A little later Kate called from the house, and Annie went up, David dancing before her. She found her mother standing by the study window, dressed for outdoors. ‘I’m off to the Mullens’, dear,’ she said, ‘although I can’t see what I can do for Connie now…You wouldn’t like to come?’
‘No, it’s too hot.’
‘You do look hot…and tired. Are you feeling all right?’
‘She’s got a pain, Mammy,’ cried David.
‘No I haven’t!’ Annie turned on him with unusual sharpness. Then, pulling herself up, she said, ‘I’m sorry, dear. Go and ask Alice for your milk.’ She turned to Kate: ‘I’m all right, Mam, really; it’s only this heat. It doesn’t seem to ease up at all.’
On his way dutifully out of the room, David said to no-one in particular: ‘She has got a pain, I know she has.’
Kate smiled. ‘Memories of last week. He’ll never forget that.’
‘Will you see Connie?’ Annie asked.
‘No; she wouldn’t want me to. And I can’t see what I can do for the boy, since the whole tribe from Jarrow will be there. But Mrs Mullen seems to think I should go. It will be difficult to explain to her why I …’
‘Of course,’ Annie put in, ‘you’d be expected to go, she’s your cousin.’
‘Annie.’ Kate looked steadily at her daughter. ‘I think this will please you as much as it did me when I first heard it…Connie Fawcett is no relation of ours.’
‘But weren’t my granda and her father brothers?’
‘Yes, but your granda wasn’t my father.’
Annie stared blankly.
‘Tim Hannigan wasn’t my father, Annie. I didn’t know until a month or so before my mother died. She told me during her last illness. My father was an artist who lodged with them…Oh,’ she said, as the noise of wheels on the gravel came to them, ‘there’s Blyth fetching the car round, and he must get back to take Rodney to Newcastle. So I must go…But isn’t that something to be thankful about, darling?’ She kissed Annie. ‘Don’t look so surprised; it is rather a staggering thing to take in all at once, I know. When I first heard it I nearly went wild with joy, I remember dancing round the table. Goodbye, dear. We’ll talk about it when I get back.’
As Kate went out Annie sat down slowly on a chair by the open window. She hadn’t spoken since Kate had said, ‘Tim Hannigan wasn’t my father.’ What a strange morning. Everything was happening; her joy had been taken away, and now this. And Kate expected her to welcome it. How strange! The world seemed to be upside-down. In a few words she was deprived of a grandfather. Tim Hannigan had been a bad man, getting drunk, beating her grandmother, fighting in the streets and using bad language. All her young life she had been afraid of him; but he was her grandfather, and in some strange way he stood for security. As a child she couldn’t say, as the other girls did, ‘Me da said this,’ ‘Me da said that’, but she said, with strange pertinacity, ‘Me granda said this or that.’ Even when he was at his worst, she still hung on to him as a tie, not with any vestige of love, but because he was a form of relationship. And now Kate said, ‘This will please you as much as it did me.’ But by telling Annie this she had deprived her of her only remaining link of male parentage.
Kate didn’t mind being illegitimate. How strange! But Annie, from the time of first being conscious of this stigma, had been haunted by a strange dread, which had taken on a definite shape as she grew older. The dread was with her now and, like a seed nurtured slowly during the years, was bursting forth into actual thought, and crying, Your mother is illegitimate! You are illegitimate! It’s in the blood; you’ll do the same! The thought grew and burst all bonds: You wanted to, that night by the pool…She sprang up, looking wildly around her. It was as if someone had spoken aloud. She put her hand into the pocket where the book lay, and thought: I’m glad I read it; it’s a warning…Oh dear God, protect me, and never, never let that happen to me…Oh, Holy Mary, ever a virgin, watch over me …
13
It was unfortunate that Rosie Mullen decided to walk home from the station, and that at about the same time Cathleen should miss the tram to Tyne Dock on her way to visit the Princes. They were approaching each other along the East Jarrow Road.
Rosie was feeling very pleased with herself; her master had praised her, and spoken of great results accruing from the London concert, and tomorrow she was to meet Michael Davidson again. She felt happy and full of self-confidence, which even the sight of Cathleen could do nothing to dispel. In fact, at that moment she was capable of tackling ten Cathleens.
Life was opening up for her. She knew now that Michael Davidson liked her, more than liked her. And she felt safe in the knowledge; it gave her strength to plan the future. When she was established she’d need an accompanist. So why not Michael? He could play really well, and was mad about music. And when she was making money, the first thing she’d do would be to move her mother and father from the fifteen streets—and, of course, try to repay the doctor…if he would take it. Life was grand. She had Michael, and her singing; she had her father and mother and friends like Annie and Kate; she could afford to snap her fingers at Cathleen Davidson. There she was, coming along as if she owned the town, with that haughty sneer on her face. Would she stop and speak, or pass on? Well, it didn’t matter to her what Cathleen Davidson did.
Cathleen, on her part, was feeling anything but pleased; her taste of Paris had made Tyneside seem quite unbearable, and the people revolting. She was thinking, if only she had some money. It was no use hoping to make money from her work, at least the kind of money she wanted; only painters of the front rank commanded high fees. However, a way lay open to get not only money but position. But she would have to get away from the grubby north. She would have to get a flat somewhere and furnish it. She was confident that her plans for the future could be realised if only she had a place of her own.
John Dane Dee was showing a marked interest in her. Twice during the month she was in Paris he had looked her up. Things would have gone much further if Doris Penell had not been tacked on to her. But perhaps it was just as well, for there was no sense in being too accessible at first. She wasn’t giving anything away this time; there was too much at stake. Propriety would have to be her watchword now. There was plenty of time to try on him those enchantments that she had exercised on Steve and Terence; that would come later.
The thought of Terence brought a stiffness to her face. Scary prig! It would be one in his eye if she became Lady Dane Dee! Wouldn’t it just! Oh, look what was coming…the haybag! Wasn’t she a sight? Fancy wearing a striped dress with that figure! She was nuts about their Michael. Good Lord, fancy having that for a sister-in-law! Not if she knew it.
They came almost abreast, hesitated, then stopped, appraising each other, Cathleen’s eyes saying clearly, ‘The same old haybag.’
They remarked on the heat. Then Rosie, full of her coming concert, could not resist speaking of it. She bragged a little and said something of the glories that awaited her, until she became aware of Cathleen’s amused smile, which said plainly, ‘How can you hope to become a success on the concert platform with that figure?’
Rosie divined what Cathleen was thinking, for she was conscious of her dumpy figure, and she felt a savage desire to hit back. Oh, if only she could find something to say which would remove that self-satisfied sneer. At this moment she had no fear of Cathleen, and she hunted around in her mind for some weapon to use. And then she had it!
Smiling brightly, she said, ‘Looks as if it won’t be long before there’s a wedding up at Brambleberry House.’
‘A wedding?’ queried Cathleen. ‘What! don’t tell me she’s having Brian.’ She laughed outright.
‘Brian? Good Lord, no! It’s a friend of yours, Terence Macbane. It sounds as though they’re head over heels…Didn’t you know they were going together?’
Cathleen had a swift desire to push the smiling face against the rough wall…The little swine! Just wait, she’d have her own back on her�
�Aloud she said, ‘Well, we’re only young once.’ Her smile was brittle. ‘Goodbye.’
She moved swiftly away, not daring to allow herself another minute opposite those small bright eyes…So that was it, that was why he had taken flight. She bit into her lower lip…Does that anaemic-looking sanctimonious madam think she can get away with it? And does Terence Macbane imagine I can be thrown aside for Annie Hannigan? Mr Macbane, your memory’s short! We’ll have to see what can be done about it…It would have been better for you had Annie Hannigan not been educated in a convent. It needed only that to make her virginal in the extreme. I wonder how much her sense of propriety can stand. We’ll have to see. And as she walked on a smile slowly spread over her face.
Kate returned from the Mullens’ house very upset. Her visit had disturbed her more than she thought possible. Against her better judgement she had gone into Connie’s house to see the boy. Connie was already dead, and all the relations from Jarrow were there. They treated her with a sort of fawning civility, and were more than willing that she should do something for the boy, since the struggle to feed their own broods was hard enough. But the granny turned on Kate. Holding the stupefied boy to her, she yelled that Kate would be the last person who would have him. Kate had left the house immediately, shaken by the vehemence of the old woman.
In Mrs Mullen’s, a neighbour had called for a subscription towards a wreath. The amount was already at £2 5s, and would most likely reach £5 by the time it had gone round the fifteen streets. Gorgeous flowers would lie on Connie’s coffin; the insurance money would be ticked for a wake before it was received; the undertaker would get his money in instalments, if he was lucky. And the new black would find itself safely on the pawnshop rack directly the funeral was over. Kate knew it all so well. It was hopeless trying to do anything; by their own efforts only could the people of the fifteen streets emerge from their customary way of living.
She wished earnestly now that she could have done something for Pat’s boy, but she knew it was impossible. It saddened her, since but for a slight turn of fate he might have been her son, for had not Connie tricked his father away from Kate many years ago?
Mrs Summers met Kate in the hall. She looked troubled and said, ‘I’m glad you’re back, ma’am.’
‘Why? What has happened?…The doctor? He’s all right?’
‘Oh, yes ma’am; he’s got back from Newcastle and had his lunch, and gone off down to the clinic…It’s Miss Annie. She won’t come out of her room; she’s got the door locked. I’ve never known her door be locked in all the years I’ve been here.’
‘Got her door locked!’ exclaimed Kate. ‘Since when?’
‘Well, it must have been straight after Miss Davidson left.’
Kate stood still at the foot of the stairs: ‘Did…did anything happen?’
‘Not a thing that I know of, ma’am. When Miss Davidson came I told her the doctor was down at the clinic and Miss Annie was upstairs starting her packing. She went up, and a while after, when I passed on the landing, I heard her laughing…you know, the way she does, ma’am, with that funny deep laugh. Then she comes downstairs and goes off to the clinic. It was Master David who found Miss Annie’s door locked. He came to me upset because she wouldn’t let him in. But I thought he was only up to his pranks again and took no notice for a time. But when I did go up, it was locked all right. I called through the door, and Miss Annie said she had a headache and was lying down.’
Kate was already mounting the stairs, and Mrs Summers followed, continuing: ‘I let her alone for an hour or so, then I told her tea was ready. But she said she didn’t want any…I was just going to ring the doctor when you came.’
Kate tried the door; it was locked. She called softly, ‘Annie. Annie.’
There was no sound for a moment. Then Annie’s voice came to her, low and rather muffled: ‘I have a headache, I’m lying down.’
‘But why have you locked the door, dear?’ asked Kate.
‘I just want to be quiet.’
The voice was unlike Annie’s, and Kate and Mrs Summers exchanged glances.
Kate said firmly, ‘Annie, open the door! You can be quiet, but I must see you!’
There was no answer to this.
Mrs Summers whispered, ‘There’s the doctor coming in, ma’am.’
Kate turned swiftly and ran downstairs, crying, ‘Rodney! Rodney!’
‘Why! what’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘It’s Annie. She’s locked herself in her room and won’t come out.’
‘Locked herself in?’ Rodney appeared incredulous.
‘Yes. Come up, dear, and see if you can get her to open the door.’
He followed her as quickly as he could. And he too tried the door before tapping gently and saying, ‘Annie, it’s Rodney. Come, my dear, and open the door.’ He stared at the panel, waiting. And when there was no answer he cast a swift glance back to Kate, who shook her head slowly, fear in her eyes.
‘Annie!’ he called again. ‘If you won’t open the door I’ll have to force it in.’
They waited in strained silence. Then from the other side of the door came Annie’s voice, startlingly calm: ‘I’m all right, Rodney; I just want to be left alone for a little while. Please let me be.’
He turned and looked from Kate to Mrs Summers, then back to the door again. ‘All right, my dear,’ he said quietly and, making a motion to the others to come away, he went downstairs. Reluctantly Kate followed him. In the drawing-room, he asked, ‘What on earth can have happened? Can you think of anything?’
Yes, she could think of something…Cathleen Davidson had been here. She could not keep the bitterness from her voice when she said, ‘Cathleen’s been here. It was after she left Annie locked herself in.’
‘What on earth can Cathleen have to do with it?’
‘Everything!’ Kate shook with agitation. ‘Cathleen doesn’t like Annie, Rodney. She’s found out about her and Terence, and has done something. I knew she would, I knew it!’
He took her gently by the shoulder: ‘Kate, that’s unfair, and so unlike you. For some reason or other you don’t care for Cathleen, and everything unpleasant that happens you attribute to her. Why, she came down to the clinic to see me after she saw Annie, and she was quite open about Terence and Annie. She said Rosie Mullen told her. And she also said she spoke to Annie about it. You see, she bears no hard feelings at all. And you must realise, Kate, that up to a short time ago she was Terence’s girl, and I think she was very fond of him.’
Kate turned away and sat down. What was the use? Cathleen had won again, and her cleverness was frightening. She had been on the point of telling Rodney about Steve, to bear out her accusation of Cathleen, but she saw now it would be Steve, and Steve alone, who would be blamed, and that Rodney himself would take on the responsibility for Steve’s behaviour towards the daughter of his friend. She was silly even to imagine he would blame Cathleen. Why was he so utterly blind to her real character?
Rodney said, ‘Of course, there must be some reason for Annie acting like this. Do you think she’s received a letter that’s disturbed her?’
Kate did not reply; she knew the afternoon’s mail was still on the salver in the hall. No; the disturber was Cathleen, who was determined to ruin Annie’s happiness. But—Kate gripped her hands together—she shan’t! I know her, and I’ll fight her. We’ll fight her together…But there was the point: would Annie fight? Kate’s hands slackened and drooped in her lap…Annie was a composition all her own, an untried composition. She looked at life as black and white, good and bad. As yet there was no middle course for her. If a person or thing disappointed her she was apt to leave them on one side; she voiced no harsh criticism, but with an air of finality that often disturbed Kate she thrust them out of her life.
‘It’s probably a letter she’s had from Terence that hasn’t pleased her,’ Rodney was saying. ‘Love can appear very cruel at her age. She can’t imagine that Terence is one of the many she’ll have bef
ore she marries.’
Her face turned away from him, Kate said quietly, ‘From the first moment I set eyes on you I knew I would love you for all time. I may not have been wholly conscious of it from the beginning, but the fact soon forced itself upon me. And it’s the same with Annie. I feel that if she doesn’t have Terence Macbane she’ll have no-one.’ She turned towards him. ‘Can’t you see? Her happiness these past few days hasn’t been just ordinary happiness, it’s been something beyond the normal. And if it’s abruptly snatched from her, she’ll sink into the depths as far as she soared into the clouds.’
Rodney came and put his arm about her and drew her up to him; holding her tightly, he kissed her. ‘That’s for your renewed declaration of love.’ He smiled at her. ‘And now, my dear, I must really be firm with you. You’re taking this much too seriously. Let us give her another hour or so, and then we’ll try again. And if she doesn’t open the door then, I’ll force the lock …’
An hour had barely passed when they again went upstairs. Rodney, trying the handle and finding the door still locked, called firmly: ‘Annie, open the door!’ He gave her sufficient time, then said sharply, ‘If you don’t open it immediately I’ll force the lock.’
There was movement in the room. The key was turned and the door pulled open with a jerk, and Annie faced them.
Kate made a little sound, a suppressed moan, but did not speak. It was as she thought: Annie had gone down into the depths as far as she had been in the clouds. She stared at her daughter’s face, which seemed to have changed in a matter of hours from that of a beautiful laughing girl to an expressionless mask, and the paleness of the skin added to this illusion. There was no sign of tears; her eyes were bright and their green so dark as to appear almost black.
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