The Branded Man

Home > Romance > The Branded Man > Page 41
The Branded Man Page 41

by Catherine Cookson


  Sarah’s tap on Emanuel’s door brought no verbal response, but the door was opened by a weary-faced woman who stared at Sarah for a moment, then was about to turn towards her patient when he yelled, ‘Get by! And let her in, woman,’ and at this the flustered nurse stood aside.

  Taking in the situation, Sarah smiled at the woman and said, ‘Good evening, Nurse Gallacher.’

  ‘Good evening, miss. I am glad to see you,’ the nurse replied fervently.

  ‘Well, you’re not the only one,’ Emanuel called; ‘so leave us, please, will you?’

  The nurse needed no second bidding; and then Sarah was standing close to the bedside looking at the hand outstretched towards her. She took it, saying, ‘How do you do, sir?’

  The answer came to her in no small voice: ‘Don’t ask me how I do, woman…walking out on me like that! It was supposed to be for a fortnight; but then you’ve got to be fetched back. There’s something fishy here, and I’ll get to the bottom of it. I’m halfway there as it is.’ And Emanuel heaved a long sigh and added, ‘Oh, I am glad to see you back, woman. Now things will return to normal; and the first thing you can do for me is to get rid of that nurse.’

  ‘Pardon me, sir, but I’ll do no such thing, for, from Marie Anne, I understand she has got you over a bad bout.’

  ‘Time gets me over these bouts, not nurses. I’m speaking from experience. Anyway, she has flat feet.’

  Sarah laughed, and said, ‘Poor soul. Fancy holding that against her.’

  ‘No matter. What she does for me you can take on.’

  ‘I couldn’t and I wouldn’t, sir; I’m no nurse, not that kind, anyway. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and have a wash and brush-up; it was a very dusty journey.’

  ‘Yes; yes, of course. I’m sorry. But I mean it about that nurse; if you don’t budge her, I will.’

  As Sarah turned towards the door, she laughingly said, ‘You do that, sir, you do. Take it into your own hands; but don’t expect me to come to your aid after she’s gone; I’ll have my own duties to see to.’

  ‘Duties, be damned!’

  ‘Yes, just as you say, sir, duties be damned!’ and she went out, still laughing.

  She was only halfway along the landing when James and Pat appeared; and they both greeted her with, ‘Oh, hello! You’re back then,’ to which James added, ‘And you didn’t bring your sister with you?’

  ‘No, sir; she’s much better, and she’s got the children to see to.’

  Pat, nodding back towards his grandfather’s bedroom, asked softly, ‘How did you find him?’

  ‘As usual, in a sparring mood, sir. My first order is to get rid of the nurse.’

  ‘And what did you say to that?’ James asked, smiling now.

  ‘Certainly not, sir!’ said Sarah, turning away.

  ‘Good for you,’ called Pat gently after her. ‘Ten to one he’s out of that bed in the next few days.’ …

  Taking a side passage, Sarah reached her sitting room without meeting anyone else and there she lay back in an easy chair and looked about her.

  She had never expected to see this room again. Was she glad to be back? Yes; yes, in one way so glad; yet, in another, part of her could wish to be miles away.

  Her mind now dwelling on this matter, she rose from the chair and entered her bedroom. First, she turned the key in the door; then going to the dressing table, she picked up a three-inch crucifix carved from a piece of bog oak, and, going to the bedside, she knelt. The crucifix held in her joined hands, she stretched her arms across the eiderdown and laid her head between them.

  She did not pray in the ordinary way, but what she said now was: ‘Lord, if you won’t ease this pain in my heart, help me to bear the sight of him, and to think of him only as a friend.’

  Four

  The events leading up to Christmas were, in general, uneventful; in fact, as it was said, the house was running on oiled wheels. However, in November, much excitement was generated by the proposal that the staff of the two houses should plan together for a servants’ ball. And this had the blessing of James Lawson.

  There had also been a conversation between Don and Sarah which had troubled them both.

  It took place shortly after her return. Don had remarked to her, ‘I have just heard from Pat that the man…the father of the child, has died…Did you know?’

  ‘Yes; I knew before I left.’

  ‘I understand that the letter was from the man himself and that he knew he was dying.’

  ‘Yes; that’s right. And it was a beautiful letter.’

  ‘She let you read it?’

  ‘Yes, she did.’

  ‘Well, apparently that’s more than she did to Pat and her father. Pat said she wouldn’t discuss it. But the man must have had good friends, because one of them sent it on. However, from what Pat says, she is not prepared to acknowledge his kindness. What did you make of it?’

  ‘What I made of it, Don, nearly caused us to quarrel: I felt she should acknowledge it to the sender. But she didn’t see it that way. Of course, she has a point: it would create a link with his friends in Spain. You see, she looks upon the child as entirely hers. As yet, she can’t visualise her growing up and asking questions. But there’ll likely come that day, and I hope I’m not here when it happens.’

  When she next said, ‘I suppose it’s a good thing for all concerned that he’s gone,’ Don silently agreed with her, for, in a strange way and to all intents and purposes, the child might have been his, a feeling he had experienced since she first lay across his hands.

  Surprisingly, he said to her now, ‘What kind of a fellow was he, really? You must know more about him than anyone?’

  She had paused a moment before answering, ‘I really got to like him, and more so after I read that letter.’

  ‘Then you don’t really think he raped her?’

  ‘Rape her? No; no. Face it or not, she had been in love with him for a time.’

  Don had shaken his head as he said, ‘You would never convince either the old man or her father that she wasn’t raped. I sometimes wish they could see her as she really is.’

  Sarah, putting out her hand, patted his arm, saying softly, ‘As long as you do, Don, that’s all that matters.’

  Five

  It was on 2 January that a disturbing letter came to James from David.

  First, it detailed what had happened at the new ranch Vincent and his mother had bought. Then, it had been thought that Vincent had suffered a heart attack. However, the diagnosis by the doctor was that he showed no sign of heart trouble; and the blunt man had stated further that the attack was one of pseudo-angina, brought about by strain and a bout of nerves. It was suggested that a change of occupation and a long rest were needed.

  This had infuriated Vincent, even though his mother had pointed out that the ranch would be well managed by the foreman, Serge Nordquist, a Swede, who had managed the place for fifteen years, ten of them for the widow of the previous owner, a man in his late forties, a fine horseman and an affable fellow.

  And so, she was trying to persuade Vincent to take a trip to the United States.

  The tone of the letter seemed to suggest to him that his mother was now more willing to settle down. However, this did not prevent her from producing the usual tirade against Marie Anne, and the injustice meted out to Vincent, David said.

  As he folded up the letter, James thought: There is always something to worry about. Life had gone on so smoothly during the past months: his father was up and about again, and his temperament much more affable; that is, since Foggerty had returned.

  Funny about that woman, and the changes she had made in this house. He couldn’t put a finger on it. She was nothing special to look at; and it wasn’t only her Irish chatter that amused one; there was just something about her.

  And look at that Christmas do. Had The Manor House ever seen such an event as a servants’ ball? Even his father, muffled to the eyes, had come down to join the rest of them, and had applau
ded the jigging of the two fiddles and the pipe, and watched them waltzing and dancing the polka, accompanied by Marie Anne at the piano. But the highlight of the evening had been when Foggerty, tucking up her skirts, had danced the most intricate Irish jig, the first she had done, she said, since she was a young girl.

  Another memory of that night was that no-one could get McAlister to dance, not even Marie Anne and her pleading.

  Now there was their relationship to be thought about, too. Pat had suggested there was something between them, a view which Evelyn had endorsed. Well, he couldn’t see it coming to anything. Oh no! Apart from his disfigurement, the man was twice her age. And just imagine if this facial trouble could be passed on. No; he must put his foot down there.

  But to get back to the letter, he would let Pat see it, but he wouldn’t mention it to his father. What he would do straight away this very night, was write to David, asking him to keep him in touch with Vincent’s further movements, because he wouldn’t put it past his son, in the state of mind he seemed to be in, to come back some time and make his presence felt again.

  Six

  Don could not tell himself he was any happier now than before Sarah had returned with Marie Anne, even though the feelings he and Marie Anne had for each other were evident, if not expressed.

  One thing he did know was that it seemed he could never get a word with her in private, and he asked himself if it was his imagination that her father monopolised her during the three evenings in the week he was invited to dinner.

  The Queen was dead and the country was supposed to be in mourning, but in many quarters the black represented only the relief that the old girl had at last gone and that a man was now on the throne. And so, stemming from this, the after-dinner discussions were generally of a political nature. Also, the winter months having again taken their toll on the old man’s chest, it had been decided he move his quarters to the annexe, and Marie Anne would then take over the main part of the house. This would save much running up and down the stairs, not only for the servants but more so for Sarah, whose time seemed to be taken up with answering the old man’s beck and call, as he still refused the services of a nurse. Altogether, there were twenty-seven rooms in The Little Manor, not counting the butler’s pantry and such storerooms. Seven of these rooms made up the annexe. These now supplied a bedroom, a dressing room and a sitting room for Emanuel, and a bedroom and sitting room for Sarah, leaving two rooms, one for a nurse, should her services be necessary, the other for a bathroom.

  After much thinking and talking to the figure within the folded doors, Don had made up his mind that the day Marie Anne was eighteen, he would present his case to the three men. Strangely, he imagined that only the old man would show little surprise and would put forward no dissent. Apart from him, he also felt he might have Evelyn’s blessing.

  However, circumstances so arranged his life that he did not have to wait until she was eighteen to be given their consent. In fact, it transpired that he did not need anyone’s consent.

  It was the second week in June. There had been five marvellous days of full sunshine; in fact, everyone was now beginning to grumble about the heat.

  Don had packed the last bag of sculpted pieces ready for his journey to the Brothers, but this night was his evening for dining at The Little Manor.

  The front door was open, as were all the windows on the front of the house. He had just entered the hall when he saw James beckoning to him from the end of a short passage.

  When he reached him, James said, ‘Come in here a minute,’ and he pushed open the door of the little study.

  To Don’s surprise he saw that Sarah and Evelyn were already there; and after nodding from one to the other, he greeted them: ‘Good evening. How are you standing this heat?’

  Neither of them answered, because James put in quickly, ‘Let’s sit down a minute. There’s not much time; Marie Anne will be downstairs shortly, and she mustn’t know about this; oh no, she mustn’t.’ He now tapped his breast pocket as he added, ‘You know that my wife and son have bought a ranch out in Canada, and you have heard us talk about Vincent’s supposed heart attack which turned out just to be a form of nerves; well, I have learned over the past months that he went to the United States for a restful holiday, but that he did not like it there. Well, some weeks ago he had another bad turn and the doctor ordered him away for a complete change. In the letter prior to this one,’ and he again tapped his breast, ‘my son David told me that Vincent had gone to France to stay with friends; but then a letter sent to him by his mother was returned, saying, “Gone away”. Now the worrying part is, not so much that we don’t know where he is, but that it is only a step across the water to England and a train journey to Newcastle. And the state of mind he’s in, he could be making for here and Marie Anne.’

  It was Sarah who now said, ‘Whatever happens, she mustn’t get wind of this; it would frighten her to death. And then there’s the child.’

  ‘Well, we can’t keep her locked up, so what is to be done?’ Evelyn turned to Don. ‘As I’ve just said to Father, she could come to us, but we’re right on the open road; he could be in and out within minutes.’

  ‘He could be in and out of here within minutes,’ her father put in. ‘And if I were to warn the yardmen to work close to the house, she would soon want to know why.’

  Now addressing Don directly, Sarah said, ‘Yours is about the only safe place. It’s bordered by the river and Farmer Harding’s fields; the only way in would be through the wood.’

  Don did not answer for a moment: but he looked from one to the other, then directly at James, to whom he said, ‘I’m not with you in this; I mean, about keeping her in the dark. I think she should be told, and right away, to put her on her guard. And yes, my place is comparatively safe, but it could be approached from the back. I do agree, though, that she mustn’t be left alone.’

  They looked at him in silence, as if waiting for him to go on; and so, hesitantly, he said, ‘I had already decided not to go to London tomorrow; I hate travelling in this sort of heat. And so I could be with her tomorrow, while you, sir, try to fathom out a way of telling her without causing her alarm.

  ‘Tomorrow, we could arrange a picnic, couldn’t we, Sarah? We could do some paddling. The beach by my place is really good; I had a dip first thing this morning when the sun was just coming up. It was wonderful. I could bring up the suggestion casually over dinner, sir.’ He was again addressing James, and he, after a long moment, nodded and said, ‘Well, yes, it would give us a little breathing space. But I can tell you, Don, I dread telling her that he’s about. She’ll go all to pieces again.’

  ‘No, Father, she won’t; she’s tougher than you think.’

  ‘Nonsense! Evelyn,’ James almost snapped at her. ‘She’s not tough, she’s still a mere girl.’

  At these words, Don bit on his lower lip, turned about and gazed out through the open window into the garden. There it was again; she was a girl, and would always remain one in these men’s eyes.

  Sensing Don’s feelings, Sarah put in, ‘I think the paddling and the picnic is a good idea. It’ll get us through another day, anyway…oh! There goes the master’s bell. Away to your duties, Sarah Foggerty,’ she said as she got up to leave the room.

  And James, turning to Evelyn, said, ‘Will you excuse me; I must go and clean up for dinner,’ and to Don, he added, ‘I’ll be seeing you, Don.’

  Alone with Don, Evelyn said, ‘I’m worried, Don. I’m more worried than I can say. He’s mad, you know, quite insane where she’s concerned; and if he gets at her this time, he really will kill her. You’re right about her being told. It would put her on her guard and prepare her for a fight of some kind. They still think of her as a little girl, the three of them, but you don’t, do you, Don?’

  ‘No, I don’t, Evelyn. But nevertheless, she would have little chance against that maniac. And, to tell you the truth, I’m frightened, too. You see, we’re in a cleft stick: we can’t go out to find him,
but he will come to find her, and he’ll pick his moment. Still, we’ll see how tomorrow goes.’

  ‘Yes, Don. But it’s funny, you know, for tonight I came over to give the family a piece of news at dinner, but now I don’t think tonight is the right time, not with Father in that state; but I can tell you. Funny that; yes, it is, that I can tell you I’m going to have a baby. Nick hasn’t come down from the clouds yet. He was with the pigs when I told him. You wouldn’t believe the mess we were both in.

  She was chuckling as Don took both her hands, and, pressing them between his own, he said, ‘How wonderful for you! Let it be the first of many.’

  Evelyn laughed outright now. ‘It’ll have to be a boy, because Nick says he wants help with the cattle. The second one he’ll want for a pig farm. The third he’ll make into an accountant so that he can count the money we’ll never make.’

  As their laughter mingled, Evelyn again thought how strange it was that she could talk like this to a maimed man and, stranger still, how everyone in the house used him in one way or another.

  Seven

  The next morning, the three of them, Marie Anne, Sarah and Don stood in a group in the hall. Sarah was saying: ‘I can’t go, even for the morning, and leave him. This heat’s getting him down. And Anne Marie has the summer sniffles and Nurse won’t let her out of the nursery. That leaves just the two of you. So don’t spoil a good day like this; it’s so heavy, it could be the last before the storm. Have a paddle and a picnic. And as you said last night, Don, you don’t need our picnic baskets; you have everything in your cool larder to make a beach meal.’

  Marie Anne looked at Don, and he back at her, and when he asked quietly, ‘Well, what about it? Am I to waste my day-off alone?’ she turned to Sarah, saying, ‘You’ll be all right?’ And Sarah, lifting her eyes towards the ceiling, appealed, ‘Lord in Heaven, listen to her. How does she imagine I manage for the other six days in the week?’ Then bringing her gaze down to Marie Anne, she said on a laugh, ‘Get yourself away, woman! You’re wasting time. And I don’t want to see you till this afternoon; there’s nothing harming here, and you know it. And there is no need to change. That’s a light frock you have on; you only need your big straw hat, and off you go.’

 

‹ Prev