‘Madam, you must listen to me. That man will bring you nothing but trouble. I am here to protect you and look after you and . . .’
He was able only to turn half around before he felt himself gripped by the back of the collar and thrust with such force against the sofa table that it toppled over and the coffee tray with it. The sound smothered Helen’s scream but not those of the two maids and the cook, who were crowding the doorway. And when John’s fist went out and caught the man on the side of the head, and Johnson made to retaliate, Cook rushed forward and thrust her sturdy body at Johnson, crying, ‘Don’t you dare, mister!’
‘It’s all right, Cook! It’s all right. Get out of his way.’
John could see that the man was showing no fear of him, in fact, that his pose was defiant. He had to draw in two long deep breaths before he could speak: ‘There’s your money,’ he said as he threw a chamois-leather bag towards him, and when it dropped at his feet, Johnson did not immediately stoop to pick it up, and John went on, ‘There’s a month’s wages and a month in lieu of notice. Now get your things together and get out of this house and don’t you dare show your face here again. But this I’ll tell you: you’ll likely have to show yourself in court, because that’s where the poison-pen writers find themselves.’
He now called to Hannah, ‘Go and fetch the men in, please.’ Then addressing Johnson again, he said, ‘I’ll give you exactly ten minutes to get your things together. Ten minutes,’ and he pointed towards the door.
It was some seconds before Johnson stooped and picked up the bag of money, the while glaring at John; then, without any change in his defiant demeanour, he strode from the room, leaving John himself feeling dazed.
Cook and Betty were clearing up the debris as he said to Helen, ‘Come along. Come out of this and into the study,’ and silently she obeyed him; but he had hardly got her settled when, after a tap on the door, Hannah entered, saying, ‘The men are here, doctor,’ and he said to Helen, ‘Lie back and relax; this will be all over in a few minutes.’
In the hall stood two of the outdoor men. Facing them, he said, ‘I’ll . . . I’ll tell you in a moment why I’ve sent for you,’ and of Hannah he asked, ‘Where’s his room? He’s had his ten minutes.’
But almost as he finished speaking, Johnson emerged through a far door carrying a large case and a small valise. He was wearing a grey suit and an overcoat, and his hat was already on his head. He was once again the butler and, using his imperious tone, he addressed Arthur Bell and said, ‘I’ll need transport to get me into town, Bell.’
‘Shut up and get out!’ John said grimly, ‘There’s a horsebus passing the gates at two o’clock. It’ll give you time to cool your heels.’ And now he turned to the men, saying, ‘This man is not to be allowed anywhere near this house or grounds again on any pretext whatever. And should he, in any way, attempt to see the mistress, I instruct you to call the police straight away. In any case, I myself will shortly be in touch with them on my own account, because this individual is the author of poison-pen letters defaming my character.’
Johnson had picked up his cases and when he reached the door he swung round, saying, ‘I can have you up for that. You’ve got to prove it.’
‘Oh, I can prove it all right, and I won’t even have to go to a handwriting expert.’
At the bottom of the shallow steps Johnson turned one last furious look on John and his words sounded ominous as he growled slowly, ‘In any case, you’ll never win . . . never.’
John stood taut, watching Johnson walking down the drive, and he repeated the man’s ominous words, ‘You’ll never win . . . never,’ and although he admitted to himself they could be true, he had to wonder what that man hoped to get out of the situation he had created.
Yet why did he ask? A lone widow had come to rely on him to the extent of leaving her home in his care; and he fancied he had made himself indispensable to her and so she, naturally and with subtle manœuvring on his part, would turn to him. It had happened before: people had been put beyond the pale of their class by marrying servants.
The nerve of the fellow. No wonder he had seen himself as the main object standing in his way.
Henry’s voice came to him, saying, ‘Don’t worry, Doctor; we’ll see to him. And it will be a pleasure.’
As John was about to make his way to the study, Cook came out of the drawing room, and he said to her, ‘A pot of strong tea would be very acceptable at this moment, Cook,’ and when she replied, ‘You’ll have it in a minute, Doctor,’ he added, ‘And tell the girls to get the mistress’ bed ready. That’s where she should be.’
‘Yes; yes, I agree with you, Doctor, after all this how-d’you-do, she’s bound to be in a state.’
In the study, Helen was still lying, almost crouching in the leather chair. There was no colour in her face and, taking a seat beside her, he took her hand, saying, ‘It’s all over now. He’s gone. You won’t be troubled any more. I’ve had a word with the staff.’
She now looked at him and said, ‘I . . . I realise I’ve been a little afraid of him for some time. When he made a statement that we should stop ordering this or that I . . . I felt, well, what does it matter? he’s looking after things, even though I knew there was something not right and that the staff was unhappy. But I was so wrapped up in my own misery and guilt and . . .’
He now pressed his hand against her cheek, saying, ‘Listen to me, Helen. Forget about that word . . . misery yes, but no guilt. You’ve nothing to feel guilty about. Although at the same time, I understand how you feel, because I’m in the same boat, as you know. You understand that, don’t you, dear?’
She looked at him intently for a moment before she said, ‘Yes, John. But . . . but that hasn’t helped; it has only added to the feeling.’
‘Now listen to me, Helen. Leonard knew this would happen; at least, he knew how I felt about you. I’m sure of that. As for your feelings for him, he was sure of your love. Oh yes, absolutely sure of your love for him. But he also knew the effect his loss would have on you, not only the loneliness . . . but the aloneness, the feeling that you could never love again, that you mustn’t love again. He knew all that. We talked very intimately at times, and he did actually put it into words that I should be near you, take care of you, even if it was just as a friend. He knew that my being married couldn’t quench my feelings for you. And as my marriage has been a failure I have really felt no guilt in loving you. The guilt I’ve experienced is connected with being unable to hide my feelings, and so soon after Leonard’s going. Yet again I say, I feel sure he knew exactly what would happen, and, what’s more, that he wanted it this way. Believe me, dear, he wanted it to happen, because of his unselfish, undying love for you . . . Please, please! Don’t cry again. You’ve cried enough, any more will make you ill. Ah, here’s Cook’s beverage.’ He rose quickly to his feet and as Betty put the tray on the side table, he said, ‘I’ll see to it, Betty. Thank you.’ Then he added, ‘Give me five minutes so I can gulp down a cup too, then come back and help your mistress up to bed.’
‘Oh no! No!’
He swung round to Helen, whose head was shaking in protest, and insisted, ‘Yes, yes. And I should imagine Doctor Peters will be here shortly and that’s where he’d want to see you.’
When Betty left the room, he poured out a cup of tea and, taking it to Helen, said, ‘Drink it up. This may not be a cure, but a couple of days’ rest in bed certainly will be.’
‘Two days in bed! No, no, John. I’m all right now.’
‘You’re not all right, and tomorrow, let me tell you, you’ll feel worse. That spasm of crying burst a dam in your head and the reaction will set in. In any case, you must do what Doctor Peters tells you. Now, I’m not sure if I’ll be in tomorrow because Rosie is near her time.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course.’
‘They seem to want m
e on hand. Not that Doctor Cornwallis wouldn’t do a better job, but they’ve plumped for the amateur.’
After hastily drinking his cup of tea, he said, ‘I must leave you to the maids now, dear.’ And then in a lowered voice, he added, ‘Not only for your sake but for mine.’
He took her hand and pressed it against his cheek for a moment before turning abruptly from her and leaving the room.
In the hall, his departure seemed to surprise both Hannah and Betty, because Betty said, ‘You going, Doctor?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m going, Betty; I’ve overstayed my welcome.’ He smiled at her; then addressing Hannah, he said, ‘When Doctor Peters comes, will you please tell him that I’ll drop in to see him sometime tomorrow?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’ll do that, Doctor.’
He now took his hat from Betty’s hand, saying, ‘Look after your mistress.’
‘You’ll be in tomorrow, Doctor, won’t you?’ It was Hannah asking the question now, and he said, ‘I don’t know yet, Hannah. I’ve a busy day before me, and I’m expecting a baby,’ which brought a concerted giggle from the two women, and he said, ‘Yes, you might laugh, but I’m a bit worried about it, because it’s my first. What I mean is, it’s a first.’
‘Oh! Doctor.’ Betty put her hand over her mouth.
This going out on a laugh, he thought, augured well, until he remembered Johnson’s last words: In any case, Doctor, you can’t win.
Eight
‘That’s it, dear. Come on. That’s a girl . . . Ah, here it comes, he . . . she . . . or it. My! My! Good girl! Good girl!’ As Rosie’s body slumped into the bed, John handed the wet yelling infant to the midwife, saying, ‘He has some lungs on him, proclaiming already that he’s a Scot!’
‘Oh, my! My!’ Annie MacIntosh held her arms out for her grandson, and the midwife said, ‘Sponge his eyes.’
‘I know. I know.’ Annie’s voice now was a shout and to it she added, ‘Robbie! Robbie!’
When the door opened almost immediately, Robbie rushed into the room, but instead of looking towards the baby in his mother’s arms, he made for the bed where Rosie lay, her face covered with sweat and smiles.
He was bending over her now and she put up her hand and stroked his hair as she said, ‘A boy, Robbie. You have a son.’
He made no reply. His head drooping, he pressed his face against hers and his arms went about her shoulders and raised her up and held her close. Still he didn’t speak, but John did, crying at him, ‘Put her down; and get by, out of the way; she wants tidying up. And she’s had a heavy time. Yet I shouldn’t think a first baby has come so easy before. You got off lightly, Mrs MacIntosh, d’you know that?’
Rosie now turned her face towards John as she said, ‘Did I, John? It didn’t seem like that to me.’
‘Well, you can take my word for it. And you, sir: do you intend to look at your son, or do you want him sent back?’
There was a giggle from the midwife at that; then Annie, moving forward, handed the baby to its father.
Robbie stood looking down on the child that was blinking up at him. Its lips were moving as if it were endeavouring to speak. It had hair, too, quite a large patch across the top of its head.
‘Give him me, dear. What’s the matter with you?’ His mother took the child from him; and in some amazement watched him hurry from the room. Then she spoke to the midwife who was attending Rosie, saying, ‘That’s nothing unusual. You have to remember, Mrs MacIntosh, that your son’s just given birth to a baby, and for him it was very hard labour.’
They were all laughing now, including Rosie; and John said, ‘You all right, Mrs McQueen?’
‘Yes, Doctor, I’m all right. Just leave everything to me.’
‘I’ll go and clean up a bit, then,’ and he left the room to go downstairs and into the kitchen, there to see Robbie scrambling to his feet from where he had been sitting at the table, and when he turned his head away, John went to him and, putting his hand on his shoulder, he said, ‘Don’t be ashamed of this moment, but keep it close to you, something to remember always.’
‘I waited for her so long,’ Robbie said, ‘I never thought it would happen; and now this seems too good to be true.’
‘Look, man,’ said John; ‘we both need something – let’s have a coffee with a kick in it.’
Having washed his hands and arms, he sluiced his face under the pump over the sink; and as he stood drying himself he realised he was very tired. It had been a hectic twenty-four hours, in which he had fought with that man and seen to his going. Not an hour later, he had been called upon to attend a road accident, in which a horse had run amok after being stabbed in the hind quarters by some young hooligans, and two people had been badly injured. Following this, he’d had a very full surgery and another talk with Doctor Cornwallis, putting him in the picture as to what had transpired at Col Mount. And although the older man’s advice had been kindly spoken when he had said, ‘I’d step carefully, John, from now on,’ he had nevertheless added, ‘Don’t forget that Madam Beatrice is still prominently on the scene.’
It had been almost eight o’clock before he reached home, and there once again, he’d had to relate all the events to his mother and this had visibly disturbed her. And she had said, ‘Could it affect your practice?’ And his answer to this had been, ‘What matter if it did? But it’s more likely to bring the women in to inspect this Casanova,’ at which she had laughed and said, ‘You’re right there.’
When he had at last lain down, he’d had time to think about what, to him, had been the main event of the day, which was that Helen had cried; and her tears had brought everything into the open.
Then it seemed he had hardly got to sleep before Robbie came knocking at the door. And now Rosie had a son and Robbie had a son, and Robbie, too, had cried. When would he himself cry? There was no answer to that.
Nine
Beatrice marched out of the solicitor’s office, telling herself it was the last time that man would get her in there. If she took any more of his advice, the land would be dribbled away in quarter acres. This was the second time she had signed away a quarter of an acre to that builder. It didn’t matter that it was rough woodland, it was still land and land was all she had, and she had told him it would be diminished no further.
When he had come back with, ‘I’m glad you’ll be able to manage, Mrs Falconer,’ it was then she had wanted to yell, ‘Why don’t you get on to him? He should be seeing to the upkeep of the house and grounds. I’ve only one gardener now.’ However, had she done so it would be telling him that she was in no position herself to put this to her husband, because they were living apart; yet at the same time she knew he was already aware of this.
Her mind was working strangely these days. She could concentrate on nothing but the fact that her husband was living but an arm’s length from her. She knew the room he slept in, at least the two of which he had the choice, the third one being too small. The windows were at the back of the house and looked onto the wood. Almost below them was the low box hedge that separated the annexe garden from the grounds of the house. In this part of the woodland the trees were thickly entwined, but not for the first time had she made her way through them in the dark and looked up at those two windows, and had only just quelled the desire to throw a brick through them.
She was walking down Northumberland Street when, her temper ebbing away, there came upon her that tired feeling that often preceded an attack, and she almost said aloud, ‘Oh, my God! Not here!’
Doctor Cornwallis had given her pills to take when she felt like this. She had some in her handbag.
She now stopped and, taking up a position at the end of a huge showroom window, she fumbled in her bag, and without taking the small cardboard box from it, she prised open the lid, and in so doing spilt the pills which brought from her no self-condemnation, only t
he words, ‘It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Take it! Take it!’
She had a job to swallow the pill, but this done, she took in a long breath, then turned from the window and continued her walk, telling herself now that she had better get home. But . . . but what about her shopping? Oh, yes, yes. There was that good sweet shop. But whereabouts was it?
She found the shop in a side street, its window aglow with an array of boxes of chocolates and sweets.
When she came out of the shop with three one-pound boxes of Rowntree’s chocolates, she was feeling quite pleased with herself. Two pounds had been her limit for some time.
Such was her feeling of satisfaction that she scurried now to the station.
The train was full. It would seem that everybody had been shopping in Newcastle. She could never afford a first-class ticket for herself, so she had to put up with sitting next to people of all types and sizes, and today was no exception.
Fortunately she had a seat next to the window, and she kept her face turned in that direction and tried to close her ears to the buzz and chatter about her.
The train was crossing the river between Newcastle and Gateshead, and the river hardly showed itself, so thick was it covered with ships and vessels of all sizes and description. She never asked herself where they might be going, or from where they had come, but her mind was making comparisons between the form of travel she was made to endure now and that which had been usual in her grandfather’s time, and even for a time while her father was alive. If they wished to do shopping in Newcastle, there had always been the carriage.
She gave a little shake of her head as her thoughts added, But you were young, very young.
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