by Jane Harris
I must have looked most awful troubled for at once she shrugged and started to make light of her suggestion. ‘It was only a thought,’ she says, unpinning her veil. ‘For when you get tired of it here. Or if you get the chuck.’
Her tone was light—but had she meant to imply something by that last remark? I was only too aware of how my fate now lay in her hands. It would take just a few words in the right ear, I’d be exposed to master James as a fraud and then given the rogues march.
She was smiling at me, holding up her veil. ‘Are you coming for a drink or what?’ she says.
I shook my head.
‘Suit yourself,’ she says. She let the veil fall. There was a moment when I thought she might try to hug me. But then she just reached out and squeezed my arm. ‘Well, the offer’s there,’ she says.
Without hardly knowing how I did it, I managed to get her out the house. I watched her pick her way across the yard and even when she was swallowed by the night I still expected her to come rushing back out the darkness towards me. And so I quickly closed and bolted the door. Then I went back to sit on the floor by the fire with the lamp turned out this time so that nobody could watch me from outside, and there I sat, as dull and waxen and stupid as a stump of candle, almost too frightened to think.
All this while I had imagined myself safe. Even when I’d seen that notice in the paper, I thought she wouldn’t find me. But now I realised that no matter where I went, she would track me down. Joe wasn’t coming back and I think she knew it. She’d never let me be. It was only a matter of time before she got me fired. And then where would I go, with no character and no money? She’d only come after me again and even if I found another job, she’d spoil it for me by telling them what I was.
Of course, my missus didn’t care about all that. Dear lovely missus! She didn’t mind what I’d been. Poor missus, who had kept me on, even though she’d found out all about me! But master James was of a different kidney. He wouldn’t want tongues clacking, to harm his election prospects. The fact of the matter was, his wifes word counted for nothing. Even if she wasn’t ½ mad, it didn’t matter whether she wanted me or not.
She would have stood up for me though, I knew she would have. That is, if she’d been in her right mind. But of course, she wasn’t in her right mind. And there was a strong chance she might never, ever recover.
And whose fault was that?
As I stared into the dying embers of the fire, I kept on seeing a vision, like a picture of the future. There was me, down the Gallowgate, laying drunk in the filthy gutter and some brute in dirty clothes and big boots stomping on me. And as he kicks me over onto my back, my face just visible behind the tangle of my hair, you can see that I am smiling. Smiling. Because I know that such treatment is no more than I deserve.
PART FIVE
20
I Am Made Captive
I NEVER WENT to bed at all that night, only sat by the kitchen hearth until the dawn broke, chill and grey and thick with fog. By that time, I had made up my mind what I was going to do. First I took paper and pen and wrote a note addressed to my mother at The Gushet. I tellt her that I had thought over her proposal and was agreeable to it, I would go back with her to Glasgow and take up our old life there. I said that before I left I had a few things to do, but asked her to meet me at 3 o’clock in the Railway Tavern, from which place we could easy buy tickets and take a late afternoon train.
After that, I wrote to master James. This letter was a flipsight more difficult. All through the darkest hours of the night I had agonised over whether to work a notice of a month, as I knew that was the done thing and I didn’t want to let him or missus down. But now that my mind was made up to go, I wanted to be away as soon as possible. Rushing towards my fate was how it felt, and the grubbier and more squalid it was and the quicker I embarked upon it, the better. Besides which my mother had the patience of a flea. If I waited a month she’d get restless. Better to go now than risk her blabbing her trap off all over the place. I felt pig-sick leaving master James in the lurch but I knew it would be for the best. He’d find a girl to replace me soon enough. And for dear sake whoever she was, she could not make a worse fist of it than I had.
The letter to master James ended up very stiff and formal.
Dear mister Reid, Forgive me but circumstances have arose and I have to leave Castle Haivers at once, there is something of my past has caught up with me and it is better that I go now before any damage is done to your name or to missus. I apologise for the inconvenience caused but have no choice. I have enjoyed working for missus I cannot tell you how much, it has been an honour and a pleasure to serve her.
I hope with all my heart she recovers from whatever it is that ails her.
Yours truly
Bessy Buckley
PS Please take good care of her make sure she has all she needs and is comfortable and you know fresh air can do her no harm.
Of course it was not my place to say such things, but it no longer mattered. I was hardly risking my job. And by the time he read it, I would be long gone.
The unveiling of the fountain was to take place that afternoon down at the Cross. Most of the farm servants would be there, and the doctor, the Reverend and probably ½ the flipping village besides. I knew from overhearing discussions of the plans that the ceremony was due to begin at one o’clock. After the speeches and all this the invited guests would head over to the dining room above the Swan Inn which master James had hired for the purpose. He had says I could go to the unveiling if I wanted, but I had declined. I knew there would be nobody near the house all afternoon and not another opportunity like it to say goodbye to missus. Of course, Curdle Features would be left behind and I’d need some ruse to get past her but I wasn’t too worried. If all else failed, I’d give her the truth. Surely even she could not refuse me a few minutes alone with my missus for a last farewell.
Ordinarily I would have sent Hector down the village with the note for my mother but I was avoiding him and so I loitered about the gate until the postman came by and got him to deliver it instead. The letter for master James I kept hid in the pocket of my apron, intending to leave it in the study for him to find upon his return that evening. As well as the usual chores, the morning was took up with running around like a lilty after the master—sewing a button onto his coat, locating a lost cufflink, smoothing once again a shirt that had somehow got creased on the hanger, sponging an egg-stain off his waistcoat. He himself was in a panic because the temperature had dropped overnight and the water that fed the fountain had froze. He spent ½ the morning at the Cross, trying to get the men to thaw the pipes. Then he had to race back and change his clothes before his guests arrived to meet him at the Swan. He charged about the place, up and down the stairs, from study to chamber and back again. The house was in a state of chassis. And then abruptly towards midday he was gone again, leaving behind a silence and stillness that would have been welcome, except it left me alone with my thoughts.
I scrubbed the kitchen, until every surface gleamed. Then I went upstairs and put all my things in a bundle. Except Noras frocks which I hung on the wall to leave behind, for they did not belong to me and I did not want to be accused of thieving. For going away (how strange to put it like that, as though it were to be a happy ending with a marriage, when really nothing could be further from the truth!), let me say then for leaving, I put on what I had been wearing when I arrived, the yellow satin with its lace and bows. That frock was once a favourite of mine but now it seemed gaudy and desperate uncomfortable. My old stays I shoved in the bundle, I hadn’t wore them for donkeys years at least not since soon after I had arrived. Perhaps I would grow used to them again when I was back in Glasgow, but for the moment I needed to breathe.
That left The Observations. I did not want to leave them behind in case master James destroyed them. Perhaps in the future missus would get well, and I could send them to her. But in the meantime I folded the ledger in old newspaper and stuffed it into my bu
ndle along with my clothes. Then I cleaned my room from top to bottom. At least when I was gone they would not be able to say I was a slattern.
Last of all I went down and placed my letter to master James on his desk and at ½ past 12 exactly, I knocked at the door of missus room. Only four little raps of my knuckles on wood, that was all, yet how significant they seemed for I knew I should not be knocking on that door again, not ever. The key turned in the lock. Then the door swung open. There stood C. Features, slack-jawed and chewing, one hand in the pocket of her skirt while in the other she held an apple. As usual she kept her foot planted behind the door, as though I might push past her into the room. She said nothing at first. There was a look she was using on me of late, ever since she’d been put in charge of missus. It was calculated to express equal amounts of amusement and pity. She was using it on me now, the skyte, as she took in what I was wearing. She must have practised in the mirror, it was indeed most irritating.
I had planned to come straight to the point, to tell her I was leaving and ask if I could have a few minutes alone with missus. But just as I was about to speak, missus herself appeared, strolling into view behind Muriel. Even now I remember that she seemed remarkably in control of her faculties. Her hair was dressed neat as ninepence and she wore a dark blue frock. She had a glance to see who was at the door then stepped out of sight once again, making no sound and giving no sign that she’d recognised me.
Of a sudden I could not bear to tell Muriel that I was leaving, just as a cod to get into the room. No doubt, missus would hear me and it felt wrong to be giving C. Features that information first. Although missus may have lost her senses somewhat, she still deserved to be treated with respect. I decided that she should be the first one to hear of my plans.
As you can see, what I have outlined above—Muriel at the door, missus floating in and out of view, me changing my mind—requires some little while to describe on paper, whereas in reality it all happened within a matter of moments. And what took place next was also fast. So flipping fast that it was over practically before I knew it had begun.
‘Well?’ says Muriel, her lips slobbery with apple juice. ‘Whit dae ye want now?’
‘Do you need any coal?’ I says, which was me stalling for time (having abandoned my first strategy, I had yet to come up with another).
In the event, I didn’t have to think of one because—with no warning whatsoever—missus dashed out the room, turning to shove me as she went, so that I went arse over tip. I knocked Muriel down like a skittle and landed on top of her, my forehead cracking her on the chin. She yelped, as a gust of air (caused by the door slamming behind us) blew up my skirts. The apple rolled away across the floor. There was the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock and then footsteps hurrying away down the stairs.
A second passed during which Muriel and I stared, dumfounded—and at rather close quarters—into each others eyes. Then I rolled off her, we scrambled to our feet and tried to open the door. But it was too late. We were locked in. And there we were to remain for the rest of the afternoon—whilst down in Snatter and unbeknown to us, mayhem unfolded.
Events in the village, I will return to ere long. But for the time being, it was just myself and C. Features locked in the bedroom. Muriel booted the door a few times then gave me such a look I feared she might inflict the same punishment upon my person.
‘This is aw your fault,’ she says. ‘I better no get the blame.’
Were this another kind of story, being trapped together might prove to be a transforming experience, at the end of which we would forget our differences and emerge from the chamber arm in arm, chuckling away about all those times in the past that we had took objection to each other, when all along we were meant to be the best of chums. But this is not The Bathgate Monthly Visitor and not that kind of story, although perhaps it is just that neither Muriel nor I were that kind of person. At any rate, after she had growled at me, she went to the window, threw up the sash and screamed at the top of her lungs.
‘Help!! Help!’
Everything was muffled by the fog. Her cries echoed back into the room as though she had been shouting at a brick wall rather than out into open country.
‘Help! Over here! He-elp!’
Cold mist began to seep in through the open window. The fog was that thick you couldn’t even see to the far side of the yard. After a few more shouts Muriel fell silent and we listened for a reply. But there was nothing, only a stupid dog barking in the distance. Muriel resumed shouting and I went over to tend the fire, which gave me a moment for reflection.
Had missus planned this escape for a while or had she just seen an opportunity and took it? She must have waited until C. Features was talking to me and then crept up behind the door and slipped the key out the lock. It was a risk, for Muriel might have heard her, or either one of us could have grabbed her as she passed. But she had two things on her side, one was the element of surprise and the other was sheer desperation. That shove she gave me sent me flying, she was strong as 6 men, so she was. Which was remarkable, given her frail appearance.
I did feel rather slighted that she’d deemed it necessary to make me a prisoner for it aligned me with Muriel, this clodhopper, in a way I didn’t appreciate. Missus ought to know by now that I was on her side. Just for a moment, I felt thrilled at the thought of her, free and at large. 3 cheers for missus! She had broke out!
But in no time at all, I began to worry. Where would she go in this weather? And in her state of mind? How could she expect to live, with no money and no husband? She would perish of the cold, or come to harm. Somebody might find her wandering and take advantage of her. The very thought made me shudder. It was then that I realised she was smarter than I thought because—much as I was on her side—I would never have let her run away, for her own safety. So she’d been wise to make me a prisoner after all.
C. Features had turned away from the window and was staring at me. ‘Ye might well look worried,’ she says. ‘But naebody can blame me she goat oot.’
The fire was burning brightly now, so I got to my feet and sat in the armchair. Muriel turned back to the window and shouted a few more times but clearly there was nobody within earshot. She lowered the sash and came to warm her hands at the grate.
‘I just hope missus’ll be all right,’ I says.
Muriel didn’t seem very interested in missus or her welfare. ‘Nae-body can blame me,’ she says again. ‘It wasnae ma fault.’
‘D’you think she’ll try to get back to Wimbledon?’
‘Where?’
‘Wimbledon. Where she’s from. It’s a village, down in England.’
‘Oh is it now?’ says Muriel, rolling her eyes, to show how much she cared for Wimbledon, England and all that. ‘She can go up the Clyde oan a clootie dumpling, if she wants.’
At this mention of the river, I suddenly thought of my mother. It seemed unlikely now that I would get to the Railway Tavern by 3 o’clock. If I didn’t put in an appearance Bridget might walk to Castle Haivers to see what had become of me. But no. Most likely she would just sit there drinking into the evening, into her altitudes. She’d forget all about me, until she woke up somewhere with a sore head in the morning. Perhaps only then she’d come and find me. But by that time, I thought, master James would have returned and we’d be set free. And then I remembered the letter on his desk. I had planned to get away without any fuss, without having to face him. But that was also beginning to look extremely unlikely.
‘This is a right old curfuffle, eh?’ says Muriel. ‘Telling you, I better not get intae trouble with Mr Reid.’
I was sick fed up to the back teeth of her harping on the one subject. ‘What are you?’ I says. ‘Scared of him?’
She looked scornful. ‘Am not,’ she says. ‘I can tell ye whit I think of that man in one word.’
‘Go on then,’ I says.
‘He’s a miser.’
That was 3 words. I could have pointed it out but I didn’t
. Instead I says, ‘What do you think of missus then?’
Muriel scoffed. ‘One word? She’s a gowk.’
Gob strike me blind, it was an effort not to leap on her and give her a basting. But it would not do to get into a fight, what with the door locked and dear only knows how long to wait before we got out. Instead, I decided to pursue this little game to pass the time. And also it occurred to me that this might be a way to find out more about Nora. For all I knew, C. Features might have been there the night she died. Nonetheless, I did not want her to know that I was curious about Nora in particular, so I asked about a few other people first.
‘What about me?’ I says. ‘Describe me in one word.’
Muriel glanced away. ‘Irish,’ she says. She might as well have said ‘gowk’, it was as much of an insult from her lips. But I didn’t care a lousebag for what she thought of me.
‘What about Hector?’ I says.
‘W. H. T.,’ says Muriel and when I didn’t understand, she elaborated. ‘Wandering Hand Trouble.’ She gave me a meaning look and my face grew hot. For one awful moment, I thought she knew about the other night and was teasing me, perhaps he’d blabbed it all around the farm. And then I realised that, of course, she was talking about her own experience of Hector. He probably tried his luck with everybody, even an old fussock like her. Still, I wished I hadn’t asked about him. I passed on quickly.
‘What about Janet, down The Gushet?’
Muriel thought for a second. Then she says, ‘Nosy. Always wants tae know if a person got their wages or their day aff, when it’s nane of her business.’