The Glass Virgin

by Catherine Cookson

  The fact that the man before him now, this one-time groom, should take advantage of such a situation stamped his character as low and cunning, and scheming, which scheming had been checked in its fruition by the fight he had had with the sea captain, for, doubtless, had things gone smoothly he would have returned to Redford Hall and presented himself as the husband of this girl, knowing that he would either have to be accepted, which was an impossibility, or be bought off. These foreigners were wily customers; even the working-class ones seemed to have more guile than those bred on English soil.

  Mr Justice Lear stared at the prisoner from under lowered lids. Yes, yes; he could see how a man like this could fascinate a girl, a young, innocent girl, even make an impression on more sophisticated women. He had an air about him, but he stood too straight, his lips were too thin and tight. He could not see the expression in the man’s eyes from this distance but he had no need to, his whole attitude was expressed in his arrogant bearing.

  So thought Annabella as she cried inside herself, ‘Oh, Manuel, Manuel, be careful. Please, please be careful what you say, and how you say it.’ She watched his eyes move round the courtroom like those of a man who had walked out of deep shadow into strong sunshine, and then they were resting on her. And as if she was about to rise and go to him her body bent forward, only to be checked by the gentle pressure of Rosina’s hand on her arm on one side and her Uncle James’ short telling cough on the other. When his eyes left her she followed his gaze and saw they were resting on Amy, and in this moment she would have given anything if she had been sitting side by side with Amy, for then it would have made him feel better, it would have lessened the gulf that was growing between them. She had done everything in her power during the twice she had seen him to lessen this breach, but she knew she had failed.

  When next his eyes moved she saw them widen slightly, for now he was looking at Mr Fairbairn and Mr Carpenter, sitting side by side on the raised seats opposite to her. She could never be grateful enough to these two men for answering her plea to come and speak for Manuel; altogether it meant three days of their time, and three days was precious to Mr Fairbairn, and equally so to Mr Carpenter.

  And now his eyes were resting on the cause of all this trouble. The captain, his head swathed in bandages, his arm in a sling, his disabilities evoking pity, sat next to his thin peevish-looking wife, where battle and retribution were etched on her every feature.

  But now the case was beginning and the proceedings were slow and measured. Manuel was asked his name. The policemen gave details of the arrest, and then the court was told why the prisoner was being charged.

  When the defending counsel stood up he talked quietly and reasonably, too quietly, too reasonably. There was no penetrating force behind his words; they appeared more like an explanation. His client had been in this country for eight and a half years. During that time he had worked for four masters, one, Mr Edmund Lagrange was now deceased, but he himself had been given to understand that his late master had held him in high esteem; next he had worked as a cowhand on a farm outside Hexham, after which he was bonded to Mr Fairbairn of Plane Farm, East Allen Dale. Later he was employed by Mr Roland Carpenter, a glass-works proprietor. He would now call upon Mr Fairbairn.

  Mr Fairbairn was sworn in and in answer to the counsel’s question he said in his forthright manner that he had found Manuel Mendoza not only a most willing worker but a thoughtful, kindly man, and it was not with his wish that he left his employment.

  Next Mr Carpenter was on the stand. How did he find Manuel Mendoza during the short period he was at the glass works?

  Mr Carpenter said that he had found Manuel Mendoza an exceptional worker, good tempered, willing, and very quick to learn.

  ‘Would you say he was of a spiteful, vengeful nature?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘Had he been drinking at the wedding party you provided?’

  ‘No, it had been commented upon, because he refused drink.’

  ‘Why do you think he attacked your stepson?’

  Mr Carpenter drew in a deep breath at this point, then said, ‘Because my stepson took a liberty with his wife.’

  There was a protest from the prosecuting counsel at this point and an exchange of words between the clerk to the court and Mr Justice Lear.

  Following this, the defending counsel began, ‘M’lud, this man had just been married . . . ’

  ‘I think we are aware of that.’ Mr Justice Lear seemed slightly bored.

  ‘I was merely going to point out, M’lud, that on a man’s wedding day his perception is heightened and . . . ’

  There was a murmur like a ripple, followed by smothered laughter from different parts of the court. Mr Justice Lear called for order and the case proceeded slowly, wearily, and Annabella thought, Uncle James said this man was brilliant, and there crept into her mind a suspicion that it would be the prosecuting counsel who would be the brilliant one, and in this she was right.

  From the moment the defence counsel sat down, the atmosphere in the court changed. The prosecuting counsel’s voice was vital, his manner was vital, his gestures were vital. Gowns rustled as women sat straighter and then became utterly silent, their interest riveting their eyes on the man who was ‘wiping the floor’ with the defending counsel.

  ‘The picture that Your Lordship has been given of the prisoner is in my estimation a false one.’

  ‘I object.’

  ‘Objection overruled.’

  ‘Of course he was a worker. There was no doubt that he was a worker, so are thousands of other cowmen in the country. He was a willing man. Yes. Yes. He could endorse that statement too, for wily people were often willing at first, over willing.’

  ‘I object, M’Lud.’

  Mr Justice Lear and the clerk to the court and the defending and prosecuting counsel had a whispered conversation and then the latter was speaking again. ‘Why did this man, when he knew the whole county was looking for the daughter of Edmund Lagrange, why did he not inform the authorities of her whereabouts? Why did this man take this young girl, this young, innocent girl on the road with him, as any tinker would take his woman, if he was in the least concerned for her? And then inveigle her into marrying . . . ’

  ‘I did no such thing!’ Manuel’s voice cut like a giant scythe across the courtroom. ‘And I’m not on trial for marrying a woman, I’m here because I hit a man.’

  The policemen were pulling Manuel back from the edge of the box over which he was leaning. Mr Justice Lear was calling the court to order and warning the defending counsel to advise his client that such displays would not help his case. He also warned the counsel for the prosecution to adhere to the point of the case, the attack on Captain Mark Weir.

  The counsel for the prosecution, now doing as he was advised, stuck to the point of the case, and very effectually. ‘Wasn’t it the custom for wedding guests,’ he said, ‘to kiss the bride? And wasn’t it the privilege of male guests to kiss the bride? In most cases it was the desire of the bride that the male guests should kiss her; and if they failed in this duty she would be left with the feeling that she was unprepossessing and not desirable. All his client did was to kiss the bride. He did not deny this. The captain had been very open about it. He had said quite frankly that he thought she was a pretty girl and wanted to have the privilege of kissing her. But when he was about to do this he was attacked by the prisoner, his jawbone broken, his collarbone broken, added to this he was concussed . . . ’

  ‘It has been proved, M’Lud, that all but the injury to the jaw was caused by the plaintiff falling among a stack of wood.’

  ‘Yes, after he was knocked into the stack by the prisoner.’

  ‘I must warn the defence counsel not to interrupt.’ Mr Justice Lear, at this point, looked severely down on the weary looking barrister, and the prosecuting counsel f
inished with the telling words, ‘The prisoner’s actions on that particular day were not those of a happy groom who would take the fact that other men wished to kiss his bride as a compliment to himself, but that of a man suffering under high tension, a man knowing that he had done a mean and underhand thing in marrying this young girl, and he could say it was his conscience at work that made him strike out blindly when the first opportunity provided.’

  As he sat down Manuel was again straining over the box, his lips squared from his teeth, their blunt edges clenched. He was glaring at the calm countenance of the lying devil below him, for that is how he saw the prosecuting counsel, not knowing that to him it was just another case, another chance to show off his skill, another opportunity to score over his weak-kneed opponent, Mr Peebles.

  But Mr Justice Lear was not deceived by either the tactical brilliance of the prosecuting counsel, or the inanity of the defending counsel. He liked neither man. Nor did he like the prisoner, but he wasn’t here to like the prisoner, he was here to judge him, yet strangely he had now a different opinion altogether of him since he had come into the dock. One thing he felt certain of, and that was the man wasn’t the rogue that the prosecuting counsel made him out to be. Certainly, he took the young girl with him on the road, but there was that other angle. He understood from a private source that when that happened she was no longer Miss Annabella Lagrange but the daughter of a woman of a most unsavoury character, and it was doubtful, if she hadn’t disappeared, that any of the people who supported her now would have continued to know her, that is with the exception of the women who brought her up. But about this man. Under ordinary circumstances, the case being a quarrel on a wedding day when emotions were running high, he would most surely have dismissed him with a caution if, and the if was large here, his opponent had been one of his own class and not the stepson of his employer, and a sea captain into the bargain, although he himself didn’t care for sea captains; brutish, loud-mouthed individuals, little in their heads and all in their hands had been his experience of them; of course, there were exceptions, but the plaintiff he felt wasn’t one of them. His wounds, he observed, were over dressed; he appeared, as if in swaddling clothes. His wife’s doing likely; she looked a shrew.

  But the prisoner, what sentence was he going to give him? If he got a long stiff one it would certainly meet with the approval of old Dorcy-Grant, because although the girl was in no way related to them, by blood ties anyway, they were taking the whole affair as a personal insult and, he understood, were moving every obstacle they could in order to get the marriage annulled. As the prisoner was the greatest obstacle it would certainly help if he put him down for two years or more; and he could do that, for he was charged with assault and battery and the blow he had delivered must have been extremely heavy to break the jaw of such a burly man as the sea captain . . . He sighed deeply. He wouldn’t be as severe as that. But on the other hand, he could not let him off too lightly. He was a workman who had attacked a gentleman – he supposed sea captains came under that category.

  He looked at the prisoner now over the top of his glasses, and the whole court became silent, waiting. But no-one was waiting as Manuel was, and he held his breath as he listened to the little bespectacled judge now talking in a flat, unemotional voice. ‘There is no doubt in my mind that you struck a blow that could have killed the plaintiff; fortunately for you it merely broke his jaw. I have taken it into consideration that it was your wedding day and that your emotions would have been somewhat heightened on this occasion. I’ve also taken it into consideration that two of your employers have come quite long journeys to speak on your behalf, and this has gone some way to making me take a lenient view of your action, so I will not pass on you the sentence that some people might think you deserve but send you to be detained in the house of correction for six months from this day.’

  There was a stir in the court which covered Annabella’s audible groans. Everyone was now looking at the prisoner. He was standing straight but holding his brow with the palm of his hand, and from his attitude it couldn’t be detected whether this action was caused by relief or consternation at the sentence. But as the policeman took his arm to turn him about he gave his body a heave and shrugged the man off, and it looked for a moment as if he was going to leap the box. But again he was just bending over it, staring towards Annabella, where she stood now shaking her head in small movements that left no doubt in the onlookers’ minds what she thought of the sentence.

  Not until Rosina and Uncle James turned her about and led her away did Manuel loosen his grip on the edge of the box and allow himself to be taken below . . .

  Five minutes later Annabella was alone with him, that is alone but for the policeman standing with his back to the door of the small, bare room. But she didn’t mind about the policeman, he wouldn’t stilt her talking as Rosina and Uncle James would have done. Unashamedly, she had her arms around Manuel, holding him tightly, looking into his stiff face, pouring words over him, reassuring words, telling him that she would be waiting for him. ‘Believe me. Believe me, dear. Don’t be afraid. I mean . . . I mean about me. They can do nothing to change me, I mean change me back into what I was. I . . . ’ Her words dropped to a whisper. ‘I’m Mrs Manuel Mendoza and that I stay.’ She jerked him with her arms in an endeavour to get through the dead, disbelieving look that lay buried deep in his eyes.

  ‘Where are you going to live?’ His voice was thick and throaty.

  ‘I don’t know yet. I would prefer to stay in the caravan; I would, believe me, Manuel, I would, because I don’t want to be beholden to anyone but you.’

  ‘You’ll look after it and Dobbie?’

  Her eyes widened slightly. Why was he bothering to talk about the horse and the caravan at this time when the seconds were precious? ‘Of course, of course.’

  ‘There’s a weak spot up near the driving seat in the roof; see that the sail canvas is over it.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Manuel. Yes, I’ll see to it. Of course I will, because we’ll need it to go back to Mr Carpenter’s.’

  The dead look left his eyes now, though it wasn’t replaced by one of hope but by a deep scrutinising stare. ‘They’re going to try and get our marriage annulled.’

  ‘WHAT!’

  ‘Your uncle came to see me.’

  ‘Oh, Manuel! Manuel! I didn’t know. I didn’t, believe me. But listen to me. They won’t do it, I won’t allow them . . . ’

  ‘You’re under age. He said you were.’

  ‘But . . . but that doesn’t matter. Don’t you realise that Uncle James or Rosina, or any of them, are in no way related to me? The only person who could raise an objection to my age would be—’ she made a swift, downward movement with her chin, then continued, ‘Well, you know who that would be, and I’m sure she wouldn’t do it, why should she?’

  ‘She was in the court.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know but . . . but only out of a matter of curiosity I feel, She made no attempt to speak to me, and for that I’m grateful. But about an annulment, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘You can believe it, and . . . and they’ll wear you down. They have ways.’

  ‘They won’t. Oh, Manuel! Manuel!’ Her voice dropped almost to a whisper as she pleaded, ‘Hold me. Hold me tightly.’

  There was a space of time when he gazed at her before he responded to her plea, and then his arms, vice like, crushed her to him; but the embrace had hardly begun when the policeman said, ‘Time’s up.’ For seconds longer they held together, then raising her hand and touching first one cheek and then the other she said to him, ‘I’ll be waiting, just remember that, I’ll be waiting; wherever I am I’ll still be waiting for you. Goodbye, my dear, dear Manuel.’ She leant forward and softly placed her lips on his before the policeman took him away.

  Six

  ‘It isn’t seemly that you should look after the horse, Annabella.�
��

  ‘But, Mama, I have nothing else to do.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, Annabella! Well, I’m sure I can find you things to do that will be more suitable. But you know yourself that it’s a man’s work attending to a horse. Look, I will get in touch with Armorer again; I’m sure he’ll be only too glad to come back. And, my dear’ – now Rosina caught hold of Annabella’s hand – ‘I’m going to mention something that I haven’t touched on before, money. I can well afford to have Armorer back and a number of the other servants if I so wish, I’m not living here in the cottage through force of circumstance; I could in fact open up the House again. You see, my dear, Mr Fraser did some very good work for us after—’ She could not now say your papa, so substituted, ‘my husband died. He sold the land and the factory to the Cookson firm for quite a substantial sum; I never realised that the land was worth so much. And then of course there was all the equipment in the glass works, besides which he got in a number of outstanding debts, so altogether I found myself very well placed, even before Mama died. Her fortune wasn’t large – only in the region of thirty thousand pounds – but this will give you some idea that you needn’t worry about money. So please, Annabella, do as I ask and let me get Armorer to look after the horse. And what is more’ – she spread her hands out now – ‘we can have another horse and use the carriage again. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  Annabella got to her feet and looked down at this woman who, over the past weeks, had done everything in her power to make her forget that she had ever left her protection, and she realised that nothing she could say would convince her that she was no longer dear Annabella, pliable Annabella, genteel, ladylike Annabella, but that she was a woman who had worked with her hands at menial tasks, and had seen life as it is lived by the majority of people. She was a woman who was a wife, if in name only, still she was a wife, and she intended to remain a wife. All the new clothes Rosina had bought her, the food she ordered to be cooked, good food, exquisite food, food that a few months ago would have brought the saliva flowing over her lips, now did not even tempt her appetite, for every time she looked at the variety of dishes being passed to her she wondered what Manuel was having at that moment.