The Silent Lady

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Yeah. And there’s more excitement to come. I’ll keep you in touch, Doctor. Well, anyway, it’ll make headlines shortly, if I’ve got anything to do with it.’ He jerked his head back towards the door. ‘That poor fellow in there. He should’ve been in the police force, in the special end. He’s got an eye for small details, and it’s small details that can move mountains. Well, be seein’ you, Doctor.’

  ‘Be seeing you,’ and smiling now, the doctor went into the room, saying to the nurse, ‘There goes a happy man.’

  He turned to the figure on the bed.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Poze. Oh, you’re looking a bit brighter. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I still don’t know, Doctor.’

  ‘Of course not. But you are improving, and as you know, you’re for another ride down the long corridor this afternoon. We’re going to see to that nose of yours; you won’t recognise yourself when they’re finished with it. And also, as I said yesterday, we’ll be dealing with some of those marks on your face. It could’ve been done years ago if you’d only come to the hospital.’

  ‘Too old, Doctor.’

  ‘Nonsense! How old are you?’ He turned to the nurse. ‘How old is he, Nurse?’

  Before the nurse could say anything, Carl said, ‘Kickin’ sixty.’

  ‘Oh, what’s sixty? By the way, what is your Christian name, Mr Poze?’

  ‘Carl, sir.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a nice name. Well, our acquaintance has been very close of late so I don’t see why you shouldn’t be Carl.’ The doctor straightened up. ‘Is there anything you need, Carl, I mean anything you fancy? You’ve got to eat, y’know.’

  Carl attempted to shake his head. Then his eye turned towards the table, banked with flowers, near the wall at the foot of the bed and he said, ‘Who sent those?’

  ‘Oh, well, I’ve seen your mother bring some in.’ He knew now that Mrs Morgan was really Miss Morgan and that this poor fellow here was not her son. Yet presumably she had cared for him for years and thought of him as her son. But his name was Poze, foreign in a way. He turned to the nurse, saying, ‘Who else were the flowers from?’

  The nurse went to the table and said, ‘Someone called Reenee, and this other one, the last visitor brought yesterday, and there are just two initials on them. Well, they’re not initials, they’re numbers, a six and a seven.’

  The doctor said, ‘Do you know what those numbers stand for, Carl?’

  And Carl said simply, ‘Yes, I know who they’re from. It’s very kind of him.’

  The nurse said, ‘There’s another bunch with a card on.

  “From the lads. Come home soon.”’

  Carl closed his one eye. Come home soon, they said. Would he ever be able to walk? As it was, he still felt that he hadn’t any body left on him; he was numb from the neck downwards. Perhaps he was paralysed. He didn’t know and was afraid to ask.

  The voice above him was saying quietly, ‘That’s it, rest. I’ll see you this afternoon. Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine.’

  The young doctor left the room and walked briskly along the corridor; but at the end he was stopped by the little woman, Miss Morgan . . . She was looking quite happy at the moment, so different from when he had first made her acquaintance. She must indeed love that fellow very much, son or no son. It was a strange world. ‘Good morning, Miss Morgan,’ he said. ‘On your way once again? You’ll find him much better this morning.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Doctor. Thank you.’ Her hand went out now and caught at his wrist. Looking up into his face, she said, ‘I’ll never forget you as long as I live and what you’ve done for him, and what you’re doing for his poor face.’

  ‘Oh, the credit is not due to me, Miss Morgan, I can assure you. Professor Baker is the plastic surgeon, I just assist him.’ He leant towards her now, saying, ‘I’ve not yet reached the eminence of being a consultant. I have nearly two more years to go as a registrar.’

  Quite slowly she brought out his name, but in two syllables, ‘Bain-dor. It’s a difficult name to remember and, I must tell you, I’ve made a mess of it a number of times.’

  He was laughing now. ‘You’re not the only one, Miss Morgan, and it’s clever of you to pronounce it so accurately, because it is sometimes Baindoing, or I have even known it to be Barndoor.’ She laughed and Joe did too. ‘But, then, what’s in a name? Nothing, really.’

  ‘There’s something in yours, Doctor. As I said, I’ll never forget it, or what you have done for my lad.’

  ‘Well, go along now and see your lad. You will find him much brighter. He’s even asked about the flowers on the table.’

  ‘He has?’ Bella was surprised.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Eeh! Well, that shows he can think.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course he can think. Whatever those brutes did to him they didn’t manage to knock his brains out. He has still got those.’

  ‘Thank God for that, and you.’

  He waved at her and walked quickly away, and she, turning to Joe, moved on along the corridor, saying to him, ‘Isn’t he a lovely man?’

  ‘None better,’ Joe said; ‘and I understand from one of the porters he’s from the top drawer. His father’s a millionaire and they live in a mansion.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Aye; one of them told me yesterday when I spoke about him. He said he was well liked, not like some out of the top drawer, who think they’re God Almighty because they have the tag of doctor on them and hold their noses in the air. Not him. It was rumoured, the porter said, he had to fight his father to take up this career. But he still lives in the mansion.’

  ‘Well I never!’ said Bella. ‘And he talks so ordinary. Well, I mean not ordinary but kindly.’

  ‘Aye; well, he’s a gentleman.’

  14

  It was the same evening, and John, Tony and Willie had come upstairs to find out the latest news from the hospital. Bella regaled them with the incidents of her visit. First, of Carl’s apparent improvement and of how plain now were the few words he could utter; and of how interested he was in the flowers. And, lastly, of their meeting with the doctor in the corridor. She laughed as she said, ‘He was . . . he was so nice, so lovely, and I think he was pleased that I got his name right. It’s a very funny name and everybody seems to get it wrong. He said some people called him Barndoor. Did you ever hear anything like it?’

  ‘What is his real name?’ put in John.

  ‘Well, it sounds foreign, but it is pronounced Bain-dor. I suppose when you say it quickly it could sound like Barndoor,’ and as she repeated the name she turned to include Reenee in the laughter, only for her face to change quickly as she got to her feet, saying, ‘No, no, lass! No!’ because Reenee’s body had stiffened. It wasn’t jerking, as it usually did, it was just stiff. She seemed to have no middle; her head rested against the back of the chair and her heels were stuck in the rug on the floor, and from her heels to her head she was stiff.

  With Willie now to one side of her and Bella to the other, they endeavoured to break the rigidity by forcing her to sit up again; but she remained as she was. Then slowly her right hand moved up to her head and her mouth opened to emit a guttural sound; then she brought out a word. They couldn’t understand what it was, but John immediately suggested, ‘She’s been struck again by something that was said. Perhaps it was the name of the doctor or something.’

  ‘How could it be?’ snapped Bella. ‘It was only his name.’

  ‘Well, that could’ve done it,’ said Tony.

  ‘Done what?’ demanded Bella.

  ‘Stirred her memory. It’s things like that that do.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘She’s comin’ round,’ said Willie. ‘Lift her back in the chair.’

  They eased her back; but she didn’t open her eyes, she just sat there, her body limp now but her hand still to her head.

  ‘I’ll have to get her upstairs to bed,’ said Bella; ‘that’s where she should’ve been long before now ‘cos
she coughed her heart out all last night. I’ll have to get the doctor to see to that chest of hers again. And, what’s more, she’s not eating. Oh, there’s always something! I thought things were goin’ too smoothly. Help me to the bottom of the stairs with her, Willie. I’ll manage after that.’

  Reenee did not need much helping upstairs. She walked, each step slow and deliberate, and in the bedroom she went straight to the bed and lay down on top of the eiderdown. Bella said, ‘Aren’t you goin’ to take your things off, lass?’ And when there was no reply, she said soothingly, ‘All right, then. All right. I’ll just take your shoes off and cover you up, then perhaps you’ll get to sleep and feel better in the mornin’.’

  She lit a night-light, then turned off the electric table lamp and went quietly downstairs.

  The men were still there, and it was John who said, ‘That doctor’s name is an odd one. I’ve never heard a name like that before, and nobody’s ever spoken such a name in this house, have they?’

  He was looking at Bella, who flopped down into a chair as she said, ‘But he’s a doctor, and he must be thirty if a day. And she’s been with me . . . well, how long? It must be all of twenty-six years. I don’t know how long she was roaming before that.’

  It was Willie who asked now, ‘And she had no sign of identification on her clothes, Bella? Not on her underwear or anything?’

  ‘No. It’s worn to ribbons now with her wearin’ it, like that coat, but it was of very high quality at one time. All her underwear was silk. She used to have a little bag; it was pinned to her knickers.’

  She thought of that little bag. She had seen inside it the time the doctor had come and given her that dose that had knocked her out, and all there was in it was a cheap-looking necklace affair, like a chain dog collar, and on the end of it there hung three red balls. It was like something you would buy in the market. There was a flat case, too. She didn’t know whether it was brass or gold, and no matter how she had tried to open it she couldn’t. She had gone round the sides of it and pressed it as if it might have a spring. She had even inserted one of her nails between the two pieces of metal, but could make no impression. She stopped at using a knife because perhaps it wouldn’t close again, and then the lass would be upset and know that she had been messing about with her things. So she had put them back in the bag.

  ‘It’s a long time since she had a turn, isn’t it, Bella?’ said Willie.

  ‘Oh, yes; and ages ago since she walked out.’

  That had been another scary time, Bella thought. It was the day after she had said to her, ‘D’you know how long we’ve been together, lass? Nearly seventeen years.’ The next morning she was gone, dark coat, funny hat and all. Bella had nearly gone round the bend again, and once more it had been Carl who had warned her that Reenee was on her way back; and she hadn’t been gone an hour. She had asked him if he knew whether she had been to the pawn shop. He had said he didn’t know; he had just seen her turning the corner on her way back up the street. And yet, that was an odd thing, she recalled now. She’d had to call the doctor in to her because her chest had gone very bad again, and she had looked in the bag, and that cheap-looking chain had gone; as also had the case that she had been unable to open. But in its place there was a piece of brown paper folded neatly; and when she opened it there were four pawn tickets and a faded piece of cardboard. She remembered she couldn’t quite make out the figure on the cardboard. She thought it might have been that of a little boy; then again, no. It was as if it had been torn off a postcard with a picture on it, but the years had dimmed the colours and it had seemingly been wet, so it had a smudgy look. But that was all that was in the bag, and it had been wrapped in this square of brown paper. She had wondered about it for a long time. She must have gone to the pawn shop again and pawned those things. They must’ve been of some value else they wouldn’t have taken them. But she didn’t come back with any money this time. Nothing at all. So why had she pawned them? Bella remembered Reenee had taken off her hat and changed her shoes, then rolled up her coat sleeves and gone downstairs to the kitchen and got on with her work as if nothing had happened. She had been a puzzle, that girl. She had been the light of Bella’s life, but at the same time she had been a worry, and now here she was going off her head again because of the mention of a name, Baindor. Why should a name like that affect her? Oh, dear me, she’d have to keep a close watch on Reenee else she’d go off on her wanderings again. In her mind she must be looking for somebody.

  She wished Joe was back. He had gone out to get himself a pair of shoes.

  * * *

  In her mind Irene was looking for somebody connected with that name of Baindor. Baindor. Was it her own name? Yes; yes, it must be her name. It was her name. She was Mrs Baindor. And there was a child. Oh, yes; there was a child.

  She turned over in bed, grabbed a pillow, hugged it to her and rocked herself as she said, a child, a child, a birthday . . . Richard.

  The name filled the room, it filled the world. Richard. Richard. The echo was like bells ringing. Dozens and dozens of church bells. They became a din. She dropped the pillow and put her hands to her head, covering her ears. Richard, he was a child. He was four. Yes. She knew he was four. Where was he?

  There came a great rush of feeling in her, and she could hear a voice saying, ‘It’s all right, dear. It’s all right. We are going away, far, far away, on a boat. No one must know.’ He would kill her. He would kill her. Who? Who would kill her? She was staring into the blackness . . . the blackness of her mind where a face was forming, a large face, a terrible face; and then it was staring down into hers, and she was crying out against it. Then her body stiffened and she could hear herself shouting, ‘No! No! No more! Not that! I won’t! I won’t!’ Her body was paining all over; and she became stiff. That was until the great hands were on her stomach and were on her back, pushing her up and down, up and down, the voice crying at her, screaming at her just one word: ‘Respond! Respond!’ Then her body was lifted and thrown about, and she screamed again, ‘Not that! Please!’

  There were arms about her and a different voice was saying, ‘There, lass. There, lass. You’re dreaming. Come on. It’s a nightmare.’

  She fell against the body, then she clung to it, and her shaking was making the body shake; but she gripped it tight because she knew it would save her.

  ‘There now. Just look at the sight of the bed. And that chest of yours. You’ll have to see the doctor again. Come on! Let me take your coat off.’

  ‘No, no!’ The words came hoarsely from Irene’s throat. She must never take her coat off. He must never get at her body. No man must get at her body, ever, ever, ever. Timothy.

  Timothy. Who was Timothy? She opened her eyes, then murmured, ‘Oh, Bella!’

  ‘Yes, love; it’s me. You’re quite safe. Now, be a good lass and let me take your coat off; just your coat, that’s all; and I’ll get you a hot drink, and give you one of your tablets to ease that chest . . . That’s a good girl. I’ll hang it up.’

  Bella took the worn threadbare coat to the wardrobe and hung it up, shaking her head as she did so. All this because she had used the name of that doctor. It had done something. It had hit Reenee’s mind – her other mind – and she had recalled something. Oh, she hoped it would stop there.

  She settled Reenee down and covered her up, saying, ‘Lie quiet now; I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Reenee lay quiet, and her mind was repeating, Bella. Bella. She loved Bella. But there was a name that had come back. Timothy. Who was Timothy? Slowly the sound of the name seemed to soften her. For an instant, she felt warm inside; the name was acting like a balm on her troubled thinking.

  It would come back, she told herself. Oh, yes, it would come back, because he wasn’t in the nightmare. No, that man, that dreadful, dreadful man; she didn’t want him to come back, not into her mind. Oh, she didn’t want to see that man again. He was cruel, dreadful. Oh, she hated him. Why? Who was he, the one who brought the blow on to her hea
d and knocked her into darkness, into another world, into another life? And her child had gone. Yes, her child had gone. But now he was back. Bella. Bella had brought him back. Baindor. Baindor. That was her name. That was her child’s name. But he was not a child, not any more. Bella said he was a doctor. How long ago was it since she had held him and rocked him, the child? Weeks, months, years, aeons of time. Words were coming into her head that hadn’t been there before.

  ‘Is your head still aching, dear? Take your hands down. Now drink this cocoa and take this pill. It’ll ease your chest, and you’ll have to see the doctor again. Now lie down and go to sleep; everything will be different in the morning. Don’t worry; your coat’s in the wardrobe.’

  She lay quietly. The door had closed; the night-light was glowing softly in the room and her coat was in the wardrobe. Her shield was in the wardrobe. She couldn’t live without her coat; they would get at her if she wasn’t covered up. Men with hands that clawed at you. His hands had clawed at her all over. Oh, what his hands had done. Whose hands? The hands of the face. The hands of that awful face. She was tired. Bella said it would be all right in the morning. She would think a lot better in the morning. She knew she would.

  She woke at dawn. It was as if she had spent the hours of sleep in a life that must have been hers at one time. She got up and went to the wash-stand and, pouring some ice cold water into a basin, she washed her face and hands. She got into her velvet dress, then put on her coat and what was left of her hat, pushing the bundle of her greying hair into the net at the back of her head. Amazingly, the net was about the only part of the hat still intact. Then she took the money-box from the mantelpiece and, turning it upside down, she twisted the lever at the bottom until there was a gap, and a shower of halfcrowns fell into her lap. These she dropped into the inside pocket of her coat, then replaced the box on the little mantelpiece.

  She went down the stairs as softly as a cat and let herself out of the front door, but once the cold morning air hit her she began to cough, and so, her hand tightly over her mouth, she hurried away down the street into the lightening day . . .