Rosina said to her, ‘Thank you, dear, I think I will have the milk now that you have brought it.’
Annabella poured out the stewed tea, then handed the milk jug to Rosina in order that she should add her own to it.
Rosina sipped the distasteful liquid, then looked at Annabella and said, ‘I was telling Manuel that we are thinking of turning the Old Hall into a glass factory because it would be a shame to waste your interest.’
‘Oh!’ Annabella looked quickly at Manuel. The expression on his face hadn’t changed, only his eyes had widened slightly at this piece of news and she said, ‘It’s a good proposition, isn’t it, Manuel? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could work together here, actually in the Old Hall?’ She was speaking as if she was trying to sell him the idea, trying to persuade him that it would be good to stay here under any conditions. Swiftly her mind was forming a plan. They could live in the House, at least part of it, and the rest could be storerooms, and they would have horses again – Manuel would love that. Her face was bright, her smile wide as she looked from him to Rosina. That was why her mama had come to the caravan, in order to put this proposition to Manuel, so it would be up to her now to persuade him to stay because, yes, she must admit it, at the bottom of her heart she didn’t want to leave Rosina. Rosina needed her, and if only she were willing to share her they could be so happy; she would come to like Manuel, she would come to love him as a son, she was sure she would; no-one could help but like Manuel once they knew him.
When Rosina, finishing her tea, said, ‘Will you walk back with me, dear, for if you decide to go in the morning it will likely be early and I won’t see you again?’ She then turned to Manuel. ‘You don’t mind?’
He stared at her without speaking. She was a devil, a subtle, scheming devil of a woman. No, she wasn’t a devil, she was like a God, a female God directing his course. And like a God, she knew what was in his mind, she knew how a man would react, a man of his type. She was a clever woman, was this Madam Lagrange. How was it she hadn’t managed her own life as well as she was managing his?
‘I won’t be long, dear.’ In spite of Rosina’s presence, Annabella put out her hand and caught Manuel’s and smiled softly at him before going down the steps first and assisting Rosina to the ground. Then she did what she hadn’t done since she had come back, she put her arm through Rosina’s and together they walked into the parkland as they had done so often of yore. And Manuel watched them.
Rosina had lingered on the journey to the cottage. She had talked about ordinary things lightly, even brightly, and when they reached the house she had suggested what Annabella should take to add to their comfort, and Annabella, a little puzzled, had said, ‘But, Mama, back . . . back in the caravan I thought you were hoping that Manuel might be persuaded to stay. I . . . I mean, if you are going to carry out this idea of the glass house.’
Rosina had turned away from her now, saying, ‘It is up to Manuel, my dear. But I doubt if he will. But come, we will talk as if you were going in the morning. What about that small set of china?’ She pointed to the glass cabinet in the corner of the room.
‘But, Mama, that is Coalport and it could quite easily get broken. No, no; thank you all the same, but I couldn’t take it. But I know what I would like, the blue mugs from the kitchen, the ones with the flowers on. You know? I would love one or two of those.’
‘Take them, my dear; take anything you want. And . . . and about clothes. Now you won’t be able to take all you have, but you must take a suitable wardrobe.’
‘Oh, Mama.’ Annabella threw her arms around Rosina and laid her head on her shoulder, and laughed gently as she said, ‘You are sweet to me, you know, you are so sweet to me, but I won’t need a wardrobe as you call it, I’ll be working most of the time and Mr Carpenter won’t be entertaining at the end of the week, I can assure you.’
Rosina had answered nothing to this little bit of frivolity, but she had held Annabella close to her, then said airily, ‘Well, come along, we will sort out what you can take.’
The sorting out had taken much longer than Annabella had anticipated. This, that, and the other was suggested and rejected, and at last she had decided on four of the plainest dresses, two shirt-waists and skirts and a considerable quantity of underwear, then she exclaimed, ‘But I’ll never be able to carry all these. I’ll get Manuel to come and fetch them, shall I, Mama?’ She looked at Rosina pleadingly and Rosina, her head turned away, said, ‘Yes, yes, do that, my dear. As you say, you’ll never be able to carry them.’
So having hugged Rosina again, Annabella sped out of the house, through the park and to the paddock where she had first learned to ride, and at the gate she stopped quite dead. The caravan had gone.
Her mouth dropping into one long gape, she gazed about her; then the name spiralling up and seemingly coming out of the top of her head she screamed, ‘Manuel! Manuel!’ and lifting her skirts she raced towards the stables, on to the drive and down to the main gate; and there, standing like a bird poised for flight, she turned her head swiftly to the right and then to the left and peered through the deepening twilight. Which way had he gone? Which way? She was now running in the direction of the crossroads and when she came to them the two main roads, one leading to Newcastle, the other to Jarrow and Shields, were, as far as the light allowed her to see, empty. The road opposite to her, a byroad to Rosier’s village, was also empty. Suddenly, her body slumping, she buried her face in her hands and wept, and as she wept she cried to herself, ‘Why, Manuel? Why?’ and for answer there came into her mind the face of Rosina. Why had she come to the caravan? What had she really said to Manuel? She remembered the look on his face when she had come back with the milk and the lemon. He had looked strange when he had come first this afternoon, but this was a different strangeness, a tense strangeness that hadn’t been there when they began their meal. And that touching little scene back at the cottage; the suggestions over and over again to take this or that. It had all been a sort of delaying tactic. Oh, how could she! How could she!
Now she was running breathlessly back to the drive, up it and across the parkland. But she had to stop and rest before she reached the cottage, for she was out of breath.
She was half running, half walking when she burst into the house. Rosina was in the drawing room. Gasping, Annabella stared at her, she glared at her, then she cried, ‘You knew! You knew he was going. You sent him away. What did you say to him? How could you! Well, it won’t do any good. I’m going, I’m going to find him.’
‘Annabella! Annabella! Be quiet. Be calm, please.’
‘I can’t be calm, I don’t feel calm.’
‘Manuel has done this for the best.’
‘Manuel would never do this for the best, you have forced him.’
‘I did not force him, I made a suggestion to him.’
‘You . . . you made a suggestion to him? Then you knew he was going, you purposely delayed me.’
‘No, I didn’t know he was going. As I said, I merely made a suggestion to him. I hoped he would carry it out, but . . . but it isn’t final. I . . . I asked him to go away for a week and leave you here with me . . . ’
‘For a week? Leave me?’ She was speechless for a moment. ‘But I’ve been here months with you, what do you mean leave me here for a week with you?’
‘You were here with me under stress. He was a prisoner all the time you were here, you thought of him as a prisoner, now he’s a free man and can come and go as he pleases, and . . . and do all that a man of his type usually does . . . ’
‘He’s not a free man, he is married, and to me; I’m his wife, he should stay with me.’ Her voice was breaking now. ‘And I should stay with him. I am going to stay with him. Manuel needs me, I know he does . . . And what do you mean, all that a man of his type . . . ?’
‘Child, if you’ll give yourself a little time to calm down an
d look at things clearly, you’ll realise that Manuel is no longer in prison; and you’ll also realise, as he does already, that your union is one of oil and water . . . still if at the end of a week he should come back . . . ’
‘If he should come back? You know that he won’t come back, you’ve sent him away. You talked, as only you can talk, and made him feel small. Well, it’s finished. It’s finished.’ She turned now and flew from Rosina and up the stairs and into her room. Tearing off the soft pink woollen dress she was wearing, she dragged open a drawer and pulled out from layers of paper the blue cord dress. She was thrusting her arms into it when Rosina appeared in the doorway, and, her voice holding deep agitation now, said, ‘Where are you going?’
‘Now where would I be going?’ Annabella didn’t turn round as she spoke. ‘I’m going to find my husband, wherever he is.’
Rosina swallowed deeply. ‘Annabella, please, please listen to me. Please be reasonable; you can’t go out at this time of night, and alone.’
‘I can’t? But I can, and I am.’ She was now pulling open the wardrobe door and taking from it her old cloak that she had prevented Alice from burning. She put it on, and not waiting to gather up any of her small belongings, she went towards the door. But there Rosina blocked her way and with her hands now joined tightly against her flat breasts she pleaded, ‘Annabella, my dear, my dear, please don’t go. Don’t leave me, I need you, you don’t know how much I need you. I’ve only begun to live again since you came back to me. I’ll wither if you go. I cannot bear to live without you. Please. Please.’
Annabella never thought she could look coldly at this woman, but now she did, and her voice was icy as she said, ‘I feel the same way about Manuel. I cannot bear that he should leave me, I feel that I would die if he should leave me. Now do you understand? And should anything happen to separate me from him for good, I . . . I shall hate you. Can you understand that? I shall hate you. Now please will you allow me to pass because I am no longer Miss Annabella Lagrange, or Miss Annabella Connelly, but I am, with or without Manuel, his wife, Mrs Manuel Mendoza.’
There was a moment’s silence as if following a blow and then Rosina moved and leant against the stanchion of the door, and Annabella passed her, walking stiffly. She passed Alice on the landing standing shaking her head as if at some sinful being. She went down the stairs and when Harris paused before opening the door for her she looked at him, and he said, ‘Oh, Miss Annabella!’ and then slowly he withdrew the bolt, and she went out into the black night.
She was outside the gate when the door closed and for a moment she knew panic. Which way should she go? Along the river bank to Amy’s, or to the crossroads again and chance he would be making his way to Gateshead, then Low Fell and in that direction to Darlington?
But no, she’d go to Amy’s; it was more than likely he had called there, more than likely. He wouldn’t come this far without seeing Amy. But she’d better not go along the river bank in the dark in case she fell in; she’d go by the road.
She had to grope her way through the park but she ran when she reached the drive and most of the way along the main road towards Amy’s house. And now she was hoping against hope that she might find the caravan there.
She was some distance away when she saw the gleam of light from Amy’s lamp, and then she was knocking on the door, crying, ‘Amy! Amy!’
‘God, lass! you gave me a gliff although I was half expectin’ you. Come in, come in.’
‘Have you seen him, Amy?’
‘Yes, lass, I’ve seen him. Sit yourself down.’
‘No, Amy, no, I can’t. I can’t wait. Where is he?’
‘Sit down I say.’ She pushed her into a seat, then said, ‘Get your breath and listen.’
‘But tell me first, how long has he been gone, I mean away from here? I want to . . . ’
‘I know what you want, lass. You want to find him, you want to be with him, so listen. It’s nigh on an hour since he left here and he only paused for a few minutes, an’ would hardly get down off the cart. He was in a tear, but I made him drink a glass of beer and got out of him as much as I could. It seems like he’s been put on trial, but he’s havin’ none of it. He’s had enough, you know, has Manuel, with one thing and another he’s had enough. First there was the business of Lagrange, and then there was you. And you were the biggest handful. And then these months in Durham. And now when he comes out he’s told he’s got to give you more time to consider whether you want to stay with him or not.’
‘But I had nothing to do with it, Amy. I didn’t know a thing about it. I was astounded, nearly mad when I found he had left. She did it unknown to me.’
‘Yes, I know that, and he knows that, but at the back of his mind he’s still not sure of you, so it’s goin’ to be up to you to make him sure, isn’t it?’
‘I will, I will, if I only knew where he was. Do you know, Amy? Do you know?’
‘I’ve a good idea. But he said that if you came after him to tell you to go back home and that he would come for your answer at the end of the week. But if he’s got to wait that long I doubt if he’ll come back; the further he gets away, the further he’ll go. I know Manuel, he’s a strange man, he’s straight and honest, but strange; he has a code all his own. He said he’d be making for Darlington and that he’d be travellin’ all night. But he didn’t go by way of the crossroads but straight on down this road here, and it’s my mind he’s passing the night in old Jacob’s field.’
‘Jacob’s field?’
‘Aye, you know it as Bluebell Meadow, but the land belongs to old Jacob, a farmer over near Pelaw. Well, it’s a long shot, but here’s what I would do. I’d take this lantern – and fancy comin’ out a night like this without a lantern, how far did you expect to get?’
When Annabella didn’t answer but rose to her feet, Amy went on, ‘It’s . . . it’s a good half hour’s walk along the road from here, about a mile and a bit I should say. Now if you shouldn’t find him there you’ll come back. You’ll promise me that, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Amy. Oh, yes, I’ll come back. Anyway I couldn’t go on walking all night, but . . . but I’ll leave again tomorrow. I’ll go by train to Hexham and start from there.’
‘Yes, you could do that. But anyway, here you are. Come on, take this now.’ She picked up the lantern she had just lit and, moistening the tips of her fingers with her tongue, she nipped at the end of the candle, saying, ‘There, that will give you a good light, an’ if you’re not back here within the next two hours I’ll know you’ve found him. But don’t you go on past there now, will you?’
‘No, Amy, no, I won’t.’ Bending forward she kissed the old woman, saying, ‘Thank you, dear Amy, thank you. I don’t know what we would have done without you, ever.’
‘Get away with you. Go on. Go on.’ She pushed her towards the door. ‘Aw mind, I’ll be waitin’. Be back within two hours at the latest. Are you warm enough?’
‘Yes, Amy, thank you. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, lass.’
She was walking on the road in the black of the night with only the lantern for company. The wind was high, the trees thrashed and at times wailed, creatures scurried across her path, and although she started and at one time cried out aloud as an animal she took to be a stray sheep bounded before her, she wasn’t really afraid. The only thing she was afraid of was not finding the caravan in the meadow.
Amy said that it was a little over a mile, a little over two would have been nearer the mark, but she knew she was close to the meadow when the lantern light glittered on the pond to the side of the road. The pond was the reason why a lot of road travellers came to rest in this particular meadow. The pasture was a walled field with a gap for a gateway, and in the opening she lifted the lantern high and her heart leapt with it when she saw Dobbie tethered under a tree, half hidden by the rough, tarpaulin shelter.<
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There was no sound within the caravan, nor a sign of light, but a grey smoke was coming from the little chimney. She went up the steps and opened the door and again lifted the lantern high, and it shone on him raised on his elbow on the bed, his eyes wide, startled.
‘Annabella!’ With a spring he was up. ‘In the name of God, at this time of night!’
‘Oh, Manuel! Manuel!’ She put down the lantern, then flung herself into his arms, crying now, ‘Why did you? Oh, how could you leave me? You should know by now . . . Don’t you understand? Even yet?’ She dropped her head back on to her shoulders and gazed up into his face, at the dead look seeping away, and all he could say was, ‘Oh, Annabella! Oh, Annabella!’ Then after a moment he cupped her face in his hands and said thickly, ‘It was madness coming out in the dark.’
‘Well, you’re to blame.’ Her voice was still breaking. ‘Anything could have happened to me on the road, anything.’ She shook her head widely now. ‘And you would have been to blame, leaving me like that. When I went to the field I nearly went mad. Manuel, don’t you understand?’
He stared at her through the fused lantern light. Then his head slowly nodding, he murmured, ‘Yes, yes. Now I understand all I want to understand.’ And his voice suddenly rose almost to a shout as he cried, ‘Yes, I understand!’ And he jerked her to him and held her fiercely before he kissed her. And they clung together until they swayed and fell backwards on to the bed, and all the while she still had her cloak on. Laughing, his hands trembling, he undid it, and when he saw the blue velvet dress with the beer stain still in evidence he gathered up the skirt in his hands and buried his face in it.
The Glass Virgin Page 43