At Gateshead, except for herself and one other person the carriage emptied. But just as the train was about to move on the door was pulled open and a woman jumped into the compartment and sat down in the opposite window seat with a flop. The guard banged the door closed and the train now gathered speed, and as the wheels went clippity-clop, clippity-clop, they resounded so loud in Beatrice’s head that she felt she wanted to put her hands over her ears as she stared at the newcomer.
The newcomer was staring at her.
Beatrice jerked her head back towards the window. Now the wheels were yelling, That woman! That woman! Clippity-clop, clippity-clop. That woman!
She now drew in a shuddering breath and warned herself to keep calm. There were two more stations to go before Fellburn. Her station was High Fellburn, and she prayed that the other passenger would remain in the carriage until then.
At the next station, the woman remained seated.
When the train re-started she kept her face turned to the window, but that was only for a time, when she was aware of the woman adjusting her hat, then gathering her bag and small parcels together. And she knew that she should do the same and get out with her, and wait for another train. Yet she remained stiffly seated, hardly moving a muscle, for somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that once they were alone together, that person opposite would start talking, and she would hear things about him. Strangely it seemed that the creature must hate him as much as she herself did, seeming to blame him for her present condition in life.
It happened just as she had anticipated. The other passenger got off the train, the carriage door banged closed. The train started, and so did Mollie Wallace, quite pleasantly at first, saying, ‘Funny, the folks one meets up with when travelling on a train.’
Beatrice kept her attention fixed tightly on the window, and the voice continued, ‘People get talking on trains, especially them that live alone. I always feel sorry for lonely people, especially them that have been done down by their men. I know all about that because I was done down by my man. But me, I’m never lost for company. Men and me get on, in all ways we get on. But you, I hear, live the life of a hermit. Like a fortress your place. You rarely go out and nobody comes in, except tradesmen. And tradesmen . . . well! you get the right tradesmen and you don’t need any newspapers.’
There was silence for a time; in fact, it went on so long that Beatrice almost turned to the woman to see if she might have fallen asleep. But suddenly her voice came again, with what another person might have recognised as a tinge of sadness, for she was saying, ‘Davey, my bloke, he was a decent sort of chap. A bit soft, oh aye, a bit soft, really too soft to clag holes with; but at bottom he was a decent enough fella. And he was a working man.’ Now the tone changed into almost an attack, for it had risen and was directed across the carriage towards Beatrice, as the woman went on, ‘But your bloke, with his education and his career, he’s a snot of the first water. D’you know that? And as brazen as bloody brass, openly running two houses and definitely showing who is master in one, fighting the butler and throwing him out, all because the fella tried to protect his mistress, your dear sister, when they were having it off on the couch. She’s as bad as him. Then, having all the staff in and telling them what’s what.’
Beatrice felt she was about to choke. Involuntarily her hand went to her throat and she could not stop herself from staring directly at the woman, glaring at her. And Mollie Wallace bounced her head at her, as she emphasised, ‘’Tis a fact, and right from the horse’s mouth, the butler himself. You wonder how I know? Oh, well, I’ll tell you. I get around, but I hadn’t to move out of me lodgings to hear this tale, because me landlady’s daughter is in the kitchen at The Hall and she keeps her ears open. And it should happen that the second footman up there was something of a pal of your dear sister’s butler. They met up in the Red Lion on their time off. And the day your dear husband battered the fella and smashed up the furniture in doing so they met up again, and the fella told the whole story. Your sister’s husband had asked the butler, who was also his valet, to give an eye to his wife. And apparently he hadn’t put a tooth in what he was suggesting. He was very suspicious of your dear husband right from the first time they met up. And when there wasn’t a day passed that the dear doctor wasn’t only on her doorstep, but on her couch, he opened up and told him what he thought. With the result that the big boy kicked him out. Oh, I could tell you, the town buzzed when that story got about. And now, they say, he practically lives there. Pops in on his mother now and again, she who’s at the end of your house, but that’s about all. And then, last Sunday, I suppose you know, there they were in church, her being godmother and him being godfather to your other sister’s baby. What d’you think they named the baby? John. Now isn’t that nice? And then they had a tea-cum-party in that smallholding pigsty next to you. It’s a wonder you didn’t hear the jollification.’
Unconsciously Beatrice found herself moving to the end of the seat, her fingers, like claws, gripping it, her whole body expressing clearly her intention, and only the woman rising abruptly to her feet, saying, ‘You try that on, missis, and you won’t be able to see your way out of this carriage,’ checked the impulse. ‘I’ve got it in me to get me own back on somebody,’ the woman added, ‘and who better than you, who’s the spit of your dirty old father, because I’ll tell you something now, I had to be hard up before I would let him near me. He was the filthiest swine that ever walked.’
At this moment they were both surprised when the train jerked to a halt. And now Mollie Wallace, tugging her tight-waisted coat into place, and pulling her hat more firmly on her head, grabbed up her bag from the seat, and her last words were, ‘From what I see of you, you are your old man’s daughter right to the core. And it’s my skirt I wouldn’t let touch you. D’you hear? If it wasn’t that I hate his guts, I would say you’re getting all you deserve. In a way you’re paying me for what I had to put up with from that unnatural old swine of yours.’
The door was pulled open, then banged closed again; but the woman’s face appeared again for a moment longer at the window and the hate on it could have been the expression on Beatrice’s countenance.
When the train started again she fell back into the corner of the carriage. And now she was holding her face between her hands and actually moaning. She was aware she’d had to sit through that dreadful tirade because she wanted to hear about him, for no word about him ever came her way: she had been above speaking to the servants about him, so all she knew was he lived in the annexe with his mother; he did his doctoring in the town; and yes, he would visit her; and as that woman had suggested, these visits would be far from futile. But she would never divorce him. Even if she did, she had read up enough about the law to know that they could never marry. She felt she had them in a cleft stick. But this . . . filth that the woman had spewed at her: fighting with the butler who had caught them together . . . Oh God! She was going to have one of her turns. Oh, no! No! No! She must hang on. Hang on! Eat some chocolates! Eat some chocolates!
She thrust her hand into the bag and almost tore the lid off a box of chocolates, and when some of them spilt onto the floor, she took no notice; but, grabbing up two others, she rammed them into her mouth, chewed quickly on them, swallowed them, and repeated the dose.
By the time the train stopped at High Fellburn, she had eaten eight chocolates; and when she left the train she had to fumble in her bag for her return ticket. Outside, she hailed a cab and twenty minutes later she was entering the house.
Frances met her in the hall and was about to ask, ‘Have you had a nice day?’ when, looking at her face, she said, ‘Oh, ma’am!’ And she took the bag from her, helped her off with her coat and hat, then said gently, ‘Come along.’
Beatrice allowed herself to be led up the stairs and into her bedroom. She made straight for the bed and sat on the edge of it, and as Frances took off her shoes sh
e said, ‘Lie down for a time, ma’am.’
Beatrice did not need any bidding and after Frances had covered her with a rug, she allowed herself to sink into the strange silence that preluded the weird feelings which led to oblivion.
Ten
‘John.’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘I must say it; I’m worried.’
‘What about?’
‘It’s her.’ His mother nodded towards the wall. ‘She’s on the prowl.’
‘What d’you mean, Mother, on the prowl?’
‘Well, it started a couple of weeks ago. I thought I was dreaming or hearing things. But it was quite late: you had been upstairs for some time and the girls next door must have been in bed at least a couple of hours. The first time it was like a . . . well, like a dog scratching at the door. You see, the door is just along from my bedroom wall. Well, then I heard the muttering, and I knew it was her. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her voice rose and fell: at times it was as though she were whispering. But for me to hear it she must have been more than whispering. The following night I thought perhaps I had previously been dreaming because there was no sound. But the next night, there it was again. It starts as if she is scratching the door with her nails, and during the past two weeks it’s happened six times. She was on again last night. I was in the garden and I saw the little maid, Mary. She came and leaned over the hedge and asked me how I was. I said I was fine; and how was she, I asked, and she said she didn’t know: all topsy-turvy, that was the expression she used. Apparently Janie Bluett had given in her notice the day before. She has been intending to leave for some time, but now, according to Mary, she can’t stand things next door any longer. And it appears Cook is feeling the same; and if she goes she has promised to take Mary with her. So that’s the situation.’
‘D’you want to leave here?’
His mother sighed before she said, ‘I never thought I would ever hear myself say so, because I loved this little house. But I must admit she’s got me scared. I wouldn’t believe she could have gone like this.’
He remained thoughtful for a moment before he said, ‘I don’t suppose I could get you a suitable place straight away, but one of the big houses on Brampton Hill has been turned into a nursing home. Doctor Cornwallis has a patient there. He says it’s a fine, comfortable place. Would you go there?’
She paused before she said, ‘Nursing home? Well, I’ve always said I would never go into a nursing home, but I think I’ll be glad to get out of here, if it’s only for a short while. But it must be for only a short time because I must live in a house of some kind, John, with enough space to hobble about. I couldn’t bear to be tied to the one room all day.’
‘I know that, dear, I know that. Anyway, I’ll have a talk with the old man in the morning, then go and see the place for myself. And don’t worry, please, because there’s nothing to stop us just packing our bags and leaving here any minute. Now settle down. And look, I’ll tell you what to do. If you hear that scraping again, take your stick and knock on the ceiling.’ He picked up one of the sticks that were hooked over the end of the bed and he tried it for length, saying, ‘You’ll have to stand up. But do that if she starts. Now settle down. I won’t be going up to bed for the next hour as I have some reading to do. And that reminds me: I left a number of my medical books along in the spare room. I must try and have a word with Frances and see if she’ll sneak them down for me. But I think you’re more likely to see young Mary than I am Frances, so if you can catch her eye tomorrow over the hedge, give her that message, will you? Ask her if she’ll bring them down and put them outside the door.’
‘What if I don’t see her tomorrow or the next day?’
‘Well, that’ll be just too bad, because then I’ll open the door, go into the kitchen and if Frances isn’t there, ask one of them to give her a message.’
‘And risk running into her?’
‘Oh, if she’s keeping her visits till the night-time, I don’t think she’ll come along this end during the day. Still, we’ll see. Now settle down.’ He bent and kissed her, then went into the sitting room, though not to read. The medical books and magazines lay unopened on the table and he sat for almost the hour pondering on the future . . .
He was a light sleeper and often found difficulty in getting off to sleep, and tonight was no exception. In fact, although he felt very tired, he had been in bed for over half an hour and was still wide awake.
It was as he stared into the darkness, his thoughts on Helen and what would be their future, when the crashing of glass and an implement that must have struck the brass rail on the bottom of the bed caused him to leap up and to stand rigid for a moment while his hand went out to the side table to grope for matches to light the gas. But as he did so he was startled once more with the sound of more breaking glass.
He thrust on his slippers and made his way to the broken window, trudging through the glass, and he peered out of the side pane towards the other bedroom window. The light outside seemed much lighter than that of the bedroom. Then he glimpsed the dark shape of the figure disappearing into the wood.
She was mad, yet wily, for she knew that he couldn’t sleep with drawn curtains and a drawn blind and, because they weren’t overlooked here, that he never pulled his blind down or drew the curtains: he liked to wake up to the light of the morning.
He now made his way back to the table and the matches, and as he lit the gas he heard his mother shouting agitatedly, ‘John! John!’ And he called back, ‘Be there in a minute. It’s all right. It’s all right.’
He now looked for the implement which had hit the rail of the bed. And there it was.
He picked it up. It was half a new brick, the edges sharp. As he examined it he could see her going through the wood to where they were building the house on the last quarter acre and picking up this brick.
He went into the other bedroom, where again he had to walk over glass. Here he found another half-brick, but this time it had been nearer its target, for it was lying in the middle of the counterpane. Just another yard, if he had been lying there, and it would have hit him on the head, which would have been her intention.
He carried the two bricks downstairs, where he found his mother standing leaning heavily on her sticks. And when he held out the bricks towards her, she looked at him and said, ‘She’s mad! She is, John, she’s mad!’
He put the bricks down, saying, ‘Come on, back to bed. I’ll lie on the couch. Now, it’s all right, it’s all right. Stop trembling.’ And at this, she said, ‘Well, by the feel of your hand, you’re not very steady yourself.’
He said nothing to this, but he helped her into bed again.
‘I’ll make a cup of tea,’ he said.
Some minutes later, as he sat by her side drinking the tea, he said, ‘This has put the finishing touches to it. Now I don’t know where you’ll be sleeping from now on, but it certainly won’t be here. So tomorrow, get Mrs Atkinson to pack up all our things.’
‘The store cupboard’s full and there’s nearly twenty bottles of wine,’ she said.
If he could have smiled at that moment he would have: there was the housewife speaking. What he said, and brusquely, was, ‘Leave the store cupboard. The wine . . . well if you must take them, wrap the bottles up in newspapers or odd garments or such and pack them into cardboard boxes. I’ll ask Doctor Cornwallis if I can store them there.’
Taking the empty cup from her, he said, ‘Now tuck down and try to get some sleep because you’re going to need it; tomorrow will be a busy day,’ and as he went from the room, he added to himself, ‘It certainly will be for me.’
‘Have a cup of tea,’ said Doctor Cornwallis.
‘No thanks; I’ve had six already; and I’m sorry to have disturbed you at your breakfast.’
‘Oh, I was finished. But bricks through your
window? She means business. It looks as though she’s certainly becoming confused, perhaps even deranged, but … ’
‘Insane, is my opinion . . . Could she be certified?’
‘For throwing bricks through your windows? Not for that, no. She’s not insane. But it has become clear that she has spasms of discharging much nervous energy, which often leads to attacks of petit mal. This is what has been happening to her.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘Oh, I was called to attend her about a fortnight ago. She had been out shopping and had returned in a state, so the maid said. And yet I can’t really be certain in her case, you know; nor, equally, can I be dogmatic and say it’s hysteria, for there are many symptoms of this that she doesn’t show. But there is certainly nothing I can see that would help to certify her. And like all in her state, she’s wily. If I was bringing in an outside opinion, which, as you know, must be done in such cases, after hearing her talk they would find it very difficult to put pen to paper with regard to her sanity. No, you’ve got to find another way to get release from her. Yet, if she won’t hear of divorce, I can’t suggest anything. But wait—’ He held up his hand and wagged his finger at John as if admonishing him, as he said, ‘Just you hold your hand a minute. There’s something in my mind clicking. It’s about insanity in marriage. There was a case some years ago—’ He now shook his head as he said, ‘I’ll look it up. Yes, I’ll look it up. There should be a law book here somewhere. Anyway, you could go to the library. You don’t happen to have any books on law, I suppose?’
‘Strangely, I do. I’ve got three; one dating back forty years or more. I bought a bundle of books at a sale in my student days, because among them was a medical book I couldn’t afford at the time. Yes. Yes, I think there’s three. I’ll look it up when I get back.’
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