The saliva was running over his bottom lip on to his chin and down on to the broadcloth of his coat. Annabella watched the drips; from a great distance she watched the drips fall. It was as if she had sprung aside out of herself and was looking at the girl who was looking at her papa. The girl looked stunned and shrunken, bent over, beaten down like corn in a summer hailstorm.
This woman standing gazing at her with the tortured look on her face wasn’t her mama, this beloved creature wasn’t her mama, this woman who had taught her all she knew, who had guided her learning, who had dressed her in beautiful clothes, who herself had combed her hair and piled it in a crown on the top of her head, who kissed her and held her in her arms and frequently murmured over her, this was not her mama. He had said that her mama was that woman who had run by the carriage, who had often run by the carriage up till about a year ago. The woman she had come to think of, not as the nice lady of her childish imagination, but as that creature with the dissolute face.
It couldn’t be. Something was happening to her; she was having a bad dream, a nightmare. As a child she frequently had nightmares, especially after she had heard her papa shouting. She was having a nightmare now, she was dreaming that Stephen didn’t love her and that he was going to marry Miss Wainheart. She had met Miss Wainheart. She had been a very agreeable girl, pretty and lively. She and Stephen and herself had laughed together. They had visited the Tower of London together and the galleries; she had liked Kathleen Wainheart; but Stephen couldn’t be going to marry her because Stephen loved herself. He must love her, he must, he must, especially now. He must!
She was watching herself again from a distance. She saw herself crouching in the corner of the big chair and watching her mama going towards her papa. She saw her grip the edge of the table until the knuckles of her hands showed up like the bones of a skeleton. She watched her leaning right across the table and saying dreadful things. She was calling on God to wreak vengeance on her papa; she was saying she hoped he died in torture and alone without a friend near him. She said things that were very unlike her mama . . . But then she wasn’t her mama.
She wished, oh, she wished, she could wake up out of this nightmare; but she couldn’t. She rose from the chair and walked down the room while her papa and mama continued to face each other across the table, and like people in a dream they took no notice of her as she passed them. She went out into the corridor and up the main staircase and into her room and locked the door. Then she sat down by the window and put her head in her hands and tried to shake herself awake, but she remained deep in the nightmare. At one time she thought she wasn’t having a nightmare at all and this was reality, but then she felt her face and she wasn’t crying, and if this was reality surely she would be in a paroxysm of tears. So she told herself to sit quietly and it would pass and she would wake up . . .
When, ten minutes later, Lagrange went through the conservatory and down the steps, he was staggering slightly, but it wasn’t from the tumbler of brandy he had just thrown off but from the emotions that were still tearing through him. Damn her! Blast her! If only she had responded as she had always done; she could have persuaded Annabella . . . Annabella. He stopped on the drive. He had lost Annabella; yes, he had lost Annabella – part of his anger seeped away on a wave of remorse. He loved the girl, in his own way he loved her, but now she’d be seeing him as the devil himself. If only that cold-blooded stone of a woman had, for the last time, used her influence.
As he kicked viciously at the shingle he saw Boston coming out of the stable yard leading his horse. He saw him stop and look towards himself, then turn away again. When he reached him Boston was adjusting the animal’s girth, and with his head lowered he said, ‘By the way, would you mind giving Annabella a message for me?’
His whole attention seemed taken up with what he was doing, and Lagrange, looking at the bent head, said dully, ‘A message? Yes; what is it?’
‘Just tell her that I never had any intention of asking her to marry me.’ He now turned his head and Lagrange, whose face was a deep purple, spluttered, ‘Now look. Look, George; she’s talking like a young girl, they always go on . . . ’
‘Be quiet!’
‘What did you say?’
‘You heard what I said.’
‘Well, don’t use that tone to me, I’m warning you.’
‘I’m in a position to use whatever tone I like to you.’
Evading the insult, Lagrange swallowed deeply, then growled, ‘I hope you enjoyed your eavesdropping.’
‘I wasn’t eavesdropping, I was walking towards your study looking for you. But your whole establishment could give word for word what was said in that room. You were squealing like a stuck pig, and your womenfolk were good seconds. I shouldn’t imagine there’s any need to eavesdrop when you’re all at it. Talk about sideshows . . . ’
‘Get out!’
‘I’m going, but only for the time being, I’ll be back for the stable.’ He made to mount.
‘You’ll what!’
‘Have I to repeat everything? You heard what I said. You owe me money to the right side of twenty thousand pounds; your horses after all won’t lessen it very much but I’m taking them, and Manuel . . . I told you I’d get him one day. And by the way, I wouldn’t try to palm the poor girl off on to any decent family around here because it’s well known that she’s Jessie’s. You’re going to have a hard time fixing her bed and board in a respectable . . . ’
He didn’t finish the sentence before Lagrange sprang at him, causing them both to fall against the horse’s flank sending it galloping down the drive. Then, locked together, they lost their balance and rolled on the ground and fought like the men they usually backed, but with more viciousness.
It took Manuel, Armorer and Heron to separate them, and Manuel had to hold Lagrange against the balustrade at the bottom of the steps while Armorer dusted Boston down, then helped him towards the horse which Heron was now leading back up the drive.
Not until Boston was safely down the drive did Manuel loosen his hold on Lagrange’s writhing body, but once he did he had to put his hands swiftly back to support him again for he almost toppled over; it was as if he were drunk.
Straightening himself with an effort, Lagrange walked up the steps and into the house where he fended off Harris’ attempt to assist him. Going slowly up the staircase and through the long gallery, he entered the Old Hall, and, calling Constantine to him, he ordered him to prepare a bath, after which he sat down before the standing mirror and stared at his reflection.
Two
Annabella arrived at the entrance to Temple Town at four o’clock. She had done the five miles from the House in just over one and a half hours. The first mile she had run all the way – she could run now that she was no longer a lady. The new, strange self told her to pick up her skirts and run, like she had seen Rowlands and Pierce doing.
When she had reached Primrose she stopped by the stream for a moment and, kneeling down, had splashed water on to her sweating face. It was then it began to rain, not a gentle summer rain but with stinging and pinging drops that hurt her skin. Over her grey, fine cotton dress that was embroidered on collar, bodice and cuffs with silk rosebuds, the handiwork of Rosina, she wore her garden cloak, a long dark blue cape with a hood which she donned when she walked in the garden in inclement weather. On her feet she had soft black leather shoes with silver buckles.
Within fifteen minutes of leaving the burn at Simonside the buckles were obliterated with wet mud. The narrow road before her was a deceptive stretch of puddles, some a foot deep, into which she sank from time to time.
The first shelter she found was under the new arches that spanned the road adjacent to the Tyne Dock wall, over which rumbled waggons laden with iron ore from the ships lying at the staiths.
There were others sheltering under the arches and her presence caused no
comment because they were mudbespattered too. The hood around her face was sodden with water and covered the top part of her features, so no-one saw the look on the girl’s face that might have caused them concern.
The rain lessened and she moved from under the arches, went on past the dock gates, and so into Temple Town. She knew the street, she knew the house. Up to a year ago the carriage had passed that way whenever she was paying a visit to the glass works. Her papa had been very proud of her knowledge of the glass industry and from time to time would take her and Miss Howard to the works. Proud of her knowledge! That she could have been so deceived all these years seemed impossible. But her papa was a clever man, a wicked, clever man, and she had been deceived. Hadn’t she thought more than once that there was some connection between him and the woman who always seemed to be waiting on that particular street?
When she entered the street she stopped. There was the river on one side and a big sailing boat with sails flapping was going towards the piers; another was coming from them. She kept looking at the ships, her head turned from the houses, until she was in the middle of the street and then, as if a hand had pulled her roughly around, her head jerked sideways and there was the house. It had been newly painted a buff colour and it had a brass knob on the door and a bell to the side.
She found she couldn’t touch the bell, and she leant against the wall, her two hands gripping the neck of her sodden cloak. It was then that a man about to pass stopped and smiled at her. He wore a cap, and his face was running with rain and his teeth were broken and black. Pressing her back tight against the wall she moved one step along it and into the shelter of the door, and when her hand touched the bell the man moved on; still smiling, he jerked his head at her as if saying au revoir.
When the door opened she was standing sideways to it, her back still tight against the wall. Her eyes moved upwards and took in the figure of the man looking down at her. He was a very big man, a huge man. His face was flattish and there was something wrong with his nose; it was askew. As she pressed her head back in fear the hood slid from her hair and she watched the man’s mouth and eyes open wide; then he was putting his hand behind him, flapping it. He did it a number of times before he spoke and then he said, in a voice that seemed very small in comparison with his size, ‘Mary Ann. Mary Ann.’
Now a young woman was standing by his side looking at her. She was wearing a loose overall kind of garment, very low at the neck, and after a moment she said, ‘God Almighty!’ It was she who put her hand out and, tentatively taking hold of Annabella’s arm, as if she expected her to disintegrate or disappear, drew her into the hallway; then she looked at the man and said, ‘I’d better tell her,’ and he replied, ‘Aye, aye,’ but never once did he take his eyes from Annabella’s face.
‘Look, take her in here.’ The young woman drew her across the narrow hall, then let go of her hand, and he opened a door and waited for Annabella to enter the room, but she didn’t move. It was the young woman who again took hold of her arm and, leading her past the man, sat her down on a red plush chair.
Sitting bolt upright, Annabella stared at the man as he continued to stare at her. Once she sniffed slightly, for there was an aroma in the room that was very like that which emanated from the billiard room in the Hall – a mixture of cigar smoke, wines and ales. Not an unpleasant smell.
She turned her head slightly as the door burst open and there stood the woman, with the other woman behind her. Then she was standing in front of her, her mouth opening and shutting.
‘In the name of God what you doin’ here?’
There was no paint on the woman’s face today and she looked very ordinary, not unlike Cogg, the housemaid, except Cogg wore a smart uniform, while this woman, like the first one, was dressed in a loose garment.
‘Answer me, what you doin’ here? What’s happened?’
‘My papa sent me.’
‘What! Lall!’
Now the three people looked at each other before they looked at her again.
‘Are you my mother?’
‘Oo-h Gord!’
She watched the woman put both hands up to her head and hold it, very like her papa had done earlier in the day, although she wasn’t showing rage.
‘The bastard!’ The woman turned quickly from her and walked towards the fireplace and then back again; and now, her hands joined in front of her and her body bent forward, she said softly, ‘Tell us. Somethin’s happened, tell us what it is?’
Annabella considered for a moment. She had to sort the words out in her mind because her thoughts were confused, all except the question she had asked, that was quite clear, it was standing out right before her eyes in great letters and she read it and asked again, ‘Are you my mother?’
The woman straightened her body. She pressed her lips tight together, then she put her arms around her waist as if hugging herself; and again she glanced at the big man and at the other woman before she spoke, and then dully she answered, ‘Yes, I’m your mother.’
It had been said. It was true then, not just her papa’s spite to hurt her mama, who wasn’t her mama. It was the truth; this woman was her mother.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ The woman was bending over her, patting her hand now. ‘I’ll explain it all later.’
‘I . . . I can’t stay, please tell me now.’ The request was polite and the manner in which it was asked caused the woman to hold her head again. Then sitting down on the extreme edge of a couch and some distance away, she said, ‘I wanted to do the best for you. He . . . he hadn’t any bairns, I mean she didn’t give him any, so I saw it as a good thing an’ . . . an’ I couldn’t keep you here. Well, what I mean, I knew I couldn’t as you grew up. It was done for the best. Not that it was easy, mind. I’m tellin’ you it wasn’t easy ’cos I knew I wouldn’t have another, not if I knew anythin’ about it. But tell us.’ Her voice was low now. ‘What’s brought it on? He couldn’t have done it for spite against me ’cos if that was the case it would have happened a year since.’ Her glance flickered once more towards the other two as if they could perhaps offer some explanation.
‘I . . . wouldn’t marry Mr Boston.’
‘WHAT!’
‘I wouldn’t marry Mr Boston.’
‘’Cos of that? He told you just ’cos of that? . . . Well!’ The words seemed to eject her from the seat and once more she was pacing the room, yelling now, shouting, using language that seared Annabella’s ears. ‘The bloody, dirty bugger! The spiteful swine! I can see it. He thought he was on a good thing; he owes George a mint and he’s been holdin’ her as an IOU and he thought it was going to pay off, an’ it didn’t, so the spiteful sod’s done this. By God! but he’ll not get off with it. Mary Ann!’ She pushed her face out towards the young woman, her teeth clenched and her squared lips away from them, then ended, ‘I’ll get even with that bugger, you see if I don’t.’
‘Don’t blame you.’ Mary Ann nodded back at her mistress. ‘What’ll you do?’
‘I know what I’ll do. If I know anythin’ about my Lall I know that once his mad rage is over he’ll come lookin’ for her—’ she nodded towards Annabella, ‘’cos at bottom he’s crazy about her. Used to strut like a peacock when he spoke of her. God, I’ll take the struttin’ out of him, I’ll put a stop to his gallop if it’s the last thing I do. What do you say, Jimmy?’
The big man moved his head slowly from side to side; then in a ludicrously small voice, he said, ‘Ah, Jessie, I’d be careful like, there’s the chance she’ll not like it.’
‘Like it! She’s had to like the other, gettin’ me bein’ her mother slapped in her face, hasn’t she? Well, she’s not goin’ to get half the truth.’ She sprang round now and, gripping the wooden ends of the high chair, bent her face close to Annabella, and she said, ‘You’ve stood so much the day a bit more can’t do you any harm. I’m goin’ to tell yo
u somethin’, lass. It might make you feel better or worse I don’t know, but any road, I’m goin’ to tell you. Now listen to what I’m sayin’ and it’s the truth. Lagrange, the vindictive sod, is no more your da than the mayor of Shields is . . . He’s your da . . . him.’ She lifted one hand and thumbed over her shoulder towards the big man. ‘And afore you turn your nose up, he didn’t always look like that; he was handsome was Jimmy in his day, it was the boxin’ that did that, and he went into boxin’ just to get money for me. I knew Jimmy long afore I knew Lagrange, in fact we were both brought up together, next door to each other . . . an’, lass, you’re his. Though mind I didn’t go with him until after I met Lagrange and he had set me up. He was away for two months or more in London; it was then that Jimmy and I got together, an’ when I fell I knew I’d have to say it was Lagrange’s, else I’d be out on me neck an’ Jimmy’d be back in the booth, more battered than he is now. So there it is; you have it, the truth, an’ it’ll make no difference ’cos he can’t do anything to me now, I’m set fair. I bet he wishes he had my little pile the night.’ She bent forward again. ‘Don’t you worry, lass, I’ll think of somethin’. You won’t go down in the gutter to please him or no other bugger like him . . . Look.’ She put out her hand and for the first time she touched her daughter’s face and became silent for a moment; then she said softly, ‘Look, are you listenin’ to me?’ then quickly she added over her shoulder, ‘Bring somethin’, a cup of tea with a dash of hard in it, quick.’ But even before she had finished speaking, Annabella had slid sideways into a dead faint, and as she went she knew she was laughing, like any common person she was laughing loudly.
The Glass Virgin Page 17