The Secret Journey

by James Hanley

  ‘No, I don’t! And that’s flat.’

  Peter looked quite serious now. ‘But honestly, don’t you ever feel towards them at all? I can’t believe it. No, I won’t believe it. Best to come back to the point. You see how easily Mother can be made happy. Look at her last night. I’ll bet she thought she was a young girl again. I’ll tell you another thing that might interest you. Mother’s been going out to work on the sly for months now. It made me ashamed. Honestly. If one could only earn a pile of money. I’d like to give her a holiday. I’d like to take her away out of Hatfields—away from all this dirty mess——’

  ‘Ah! Now you’re beginning to talk through your hat, my lad,’ said Anthony. ‘Mother could have got away from this neighbourhood twice, but she wouldn’t budge, and now she can’t budge even if she wanted to.’

  ‘Don’t you ever think the workers get a lousy deal?’ asked Peter. ‘Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and the more I think of it the more clearly I can see that, as Desmond said, the workers are mugs.’

  ‘Yes, it suits him down to the ground, doesn’t it? Living on their tuppences and threepences. To put it bluntly, I agree with Possie. It’s all my grandma—this tosh about the workers.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Peter. ‘What about Mother, then? She’s a working man’s wife, isn’t she? We’re a working man’s sons.’

  ‘The world knows that already without you blubbing it all over the place.’

  Having finished dinner, Peter got up to go.

  ‘If you don’t mind taking it easy, I’m going past the Shed myself. Will you wait?’ asked Anthony.

  ‘Yes, but hurry up.’ It was now a quarter to one. Anthony opened the door, Peter behind him.

  ‘Ah! Good-afternoon, young gentlemen. Good-afternoon. Well, I never. Dear me! Your family seem to be always on the run.’ Mr. Corkran smiled up at Anthony.

  Who was this man? What did he want? Anthony limped down into the street. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Turned out nice again, hasn’t it?’ said Mr. Corkran, deliberately blocking the path. ‘Is your mother in?’ He looked straight at Peter. ‘Off to business, Mr. Fury. Good! We all have our work to do. Got to keep the world turning, haven’t we?’ The smile never once left his face.

  ‘Mrs. Fury is out,’ said Anthony, wondering who this affable gentleman could be.

  ‘Oh dear! That is rather awkward,’ replied Mr. Corkran. ‘Will she be long?’ Again he looked at Peter. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, your mother is addicted to a most unfortunate habit. She’s always out when I call. Last time I did see her she was anything but affable. Even complained at the way I knocked. But people are hard to deal with—difficult to please. Very, very difficult, Mr. Fury.’

  Anthony looked round at his brother. He had turned the colour of chalk, and still stood on the step, holding on to the knob of the door.

  ‘She is out, that’s a fact,’ said Peter, and he got down from the step and banged the door behind him. The vigour and determination with which he did so seemed answer enough at last to Mr. Corkran, but on such a fine afternoon Mr. Daniel Corkran was not going to appear unperturbed.

  ‘Who are you? What name is it? I’ll tell my mother as soon as she comes in,’ Anthony said, whose surprise was now increasing, not only at the easy familiarity of the gentleman in his bowler, but at his brother’s silence. Why had Peter turned so pale all of a sudden? Who was the fellow, anyhow?

  ‘There goes the whistle,’ said Anthony.

  Peter did not hear it. He stood by his brother, his eyes fixed on Daniel Corkran.

  ‘Do you think she’ll be very long?’ asked the man in the bowler. ‘I’ve come a long way, and have been doing some business in the neighbourhood. I should like to complete it by seeing your mother. Indeed, I should very much like to see her. Perhaps you could make a suggestion?’ He looked away up the street, as though extending the courtesy of considering the position.

  ‘Who is he?’ asked Anthony.

  Mr. Corkran turned round as though struck. ‘Who am I? Oh, I represent Ragner and Company, young man, but your brother and I know each other very well. Not in the way of business, of course. But we are very well known to each other, aren’t we, Mr. Fury?’ and his smiling face turned to Peter again.

  ‘His name is Corkran,’ said Peter. ‘What do you want? Can’t you see my brother and I are going off? Can’t you leave a note?’

  ‘I could, for as a matter of fact I have a very urgent one to give your mother, but it is one of the rules in our business always to deliver personally. However, seeing we are so well acquainted, I haven’t the slightest objection to giving it you. I know you’ll give it to your mother.’

  He took from his pocket a long, thin and official-looking envelope. It was marked in red ink ‘Urgent.’ He handed the letter to Peter. ‘If you should forget that the matter is urgent,’ said Daniel Corkran, ‘it might be rather unfortunate for us all. Well, good-day.’ And raising his hard hat, he looked from one to the other with the same perpetual smile, and then went off.

  ‘Who is that man?’ asked Anthony. ‘You seem to know him very well. When he looked at you, you turned quite pale.’

  ‘I can’t talk about that now,’ said Peter. ‘You say the bloody whistle’s gone.’

  ‘Give me the letter,’ said Anthony; ‘it is for Mother, isn’t it?’ He held out his hand.

  ‘No!’ said Peter. ‘I won’t give it to you, for one reason. It is this. You’ll gain nothing by reading it. Nobody will. I’m going to burn it. Understand? And not a word to Mother.’ Then he ran down Hatfields.

  ‘Well, I’ll be hanged,’ said Anthony. ‘There’s something queer going on, all right. He seems to know a hell of a lot about Mother’s business. What a bloody mug I was to stay ashore! By God! I’ll never do it again, never!’ And limping towards the King’s Road, Anthony Fury’s mind was occupied by only one thought—his ship. ‘I work, I turn up my money regular. What more can I do?’ He turned the corner, and rested a bit. ‘I ought really to be lying down,’ he thought. ‘My feet don’t seem quite right yet.’ He limped on.

  At Mr. Quickle’s, the jeweller’s shop, he stopped. It was a habit of his each time he passed down the King’s Road to stop at Mr. Quickle’s and to stare into his window, not at the clocks and watches, the rings and brooches and necklaces, but at a magnificent Italian accordion which had lain in the window for some months. Anthony Fury stared at it, as though there were but one idea in his mind, and that was to break the window, steal the instrument, and run. Forgotten was Mr. Corkran, and Peter, and his mother. There was the marvellous instrument in the window.

  ‘Lord!’ he said. ‘If only I could buy that wonderful accordion!’ He began to laugh as he recollected Peter’s saying, ‘Don’t you ever feel as though there were something short in your life, something you really wanted with all your heart? That’s how I feel.’

  ‘Yes,’ thought Anthony, ‘there is! I’ve been saving up two years now, two whole years, and I’m as far off a real piano-accordion as ever.’ Yes, that was all he wanted. The whole world could go to the devil if he had that marvellous, that lovely instrument. His eyes seemed to grow bigger as he stared through the plate-glass window. Even Mr. Quickle had pushed his chair nearer to the window in order to get a better view of the young man. Yes, he had seen him before. And before that. Why, that young man just haunted the place. ‘Which reminds me,’ he said to himself, ‘I’ve never put a ticket on it,’ and he immediately put a card on the instrument.

  ‘Forty-one guineas,’ read Anthony from the other side of the window. ‘Forty-one guineas.’

  CHAPTER XVI

  ‘Oh! It’s you, is it?’ said Daniel Corkran sarcastically, peeping his head round the door. ‘Well, well!’ Never in the whole history of Banfield House had there resounded through the house such a clanging, urgent, demanding bell. Mr. Corkran, deeply immersed in a book, brought his reading to an abrupt halt, hurried down the hall, and opened the door. Somehow or other, he seemed to have div
ined in the very reverberation of that bell who the caller was, and he only partly opened the wide black door and put his head round. Yes, he was right. There he was, standing on the very step. Mr. Peter Fury. He looked hot, agitated, his appearance was dishevelled, he seemed indeed to have come straight from his work. He wore his dungarees, his hands and face were black with oil and grease. He began rubbing his hands on his trousers.

  ‘Is Mrs. Ragner in?’ he asked.

  Mr. Corkran, eyes upon the caller, did not answer. This fellow irritated him. For this reason it seemed that he, Mr. Daniel Corkran, must be the very opposite. He must be leisurely, calm, casual, controlled. He did not answer the young man’s question at once, but stood behind the door watching him. Finally he said coldly, ‘Mrs. Ragner is not in,’ and prepared to close the door. He knew that in a few minutes he would have Mr. Peter Fury inside, inside his own kitchen. There were a number of reasons why he, and not Mrs. Ragner, should see this young man.

  ‘I said Mrs. Ragner is not in,’ repeated Mr. Corkran harshly. ‘And supposing she was. Do you think she would see you? Why should she see you? She is not at the disposal of everybody who likes to call—yes, and who likes to tear the bell out of the wall. Now,’ he concluded, ‘clear out! When it was in your interest to call here you kept away.’ Daniel Corkran put his foot against the door. ‘Good-night.’

  ‘But I must see her,’ said the young man. He was on the step, his eyes upon the bottom of the door. When it moved slightly he quickly jabbed his foot in, and said desperately, ‘I must see her,’ and began pushing against the door. Suddenly Mr. Corkran withdrew his weight from it and Peter Fury catapulted into the hall. He felt a hand grip his neck. ‘You can see me,’ Corkran said. He shut the door, and still holding on to the visitor’s neck, he went on:

  ‘Tell me why you wish to see her? It must be very important! What is it?’

  ‘You know what it is—you bastard!’ With a quick lunge he freed himself from Daniel Corkran’s grip. He jammed the man against the wall. Corkran’s smile enraged him. ‘You swine! You tried to trap me, didn’t you?’

  The man looked positively hurt. ‘Why should I trap you? Why should I trap anybody—at least you? Who are you to consider yourself worth trapping? The last time you were here I told you that the next time you called you would see me. D’you remember that? Then here I am! Daniel Corkran. What can I do for you? Please lean off me—do you want me to break your neck?—you swine. D’you know, young man, I’ve made a discovery. Yes. In fact, I’ve made two discoveries. But first tell me this. I gave you a note a short time ago—an urgent note, a most important note, I assure you, addressed to your mother. Your mother unfortunately was out. Isn’t it strange that she should always be out when I call? In fact, I’ve only found her in on two occasions, and then only because I was calling with money for her. Well, now you are here, you’ll tell me what you did with that note.

  ‘Yesterday at eleven o’clock Mrs. Ragner did not go to her town office. No. She sat here from half-past ten until twelve, waiting for your mother, who hasn’t yet shown her face. Are we not considerate, patient? Think of it. We’ve obliged your mother time and again, and yet when she is asked to call here—and why shouldn’t she, anyway?—she becomes quite indifferent.’ Mr. Corkran scratched his head.

  ‘Dear me! Dear me! Now how can that be? It is unusual. You see, your mother must have learned by now that to be indifferent, to be lacking in appreciation, to fail to have any sense of obligation, does not pay. Why hasn’t she come? You know that. Answer me, young gentleman. Why hasn’t she come? No! H’m!

  ‘Then since you won’t answer, I’ll do it for you. You destroyed that note. How do I know that? Ah! I know everything—and I am interested in things too, even Loco Sheds. Tell me why you flung that demand note in the furnace? Tell me that, and I’ll hear what you have to say. Otherwise you can clear to the devil. I haven’t the slightest intention of wasting my time on you. The other discovery—well’—and Mr. Corkran smiled. He watched the young man’s face. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can even tell what you are thinking. I can read your face, young man. You are disgusted! Indeed! And what about? How simple and innocent you are, standing there looking at me. But let your disgust devour itself. Come along! Why did you burn that note?’

  ‘That is my business.’

  ‘Is it? Since when has this matter been your business? You’ve made a mistake, Mr. Fury. Privacy, in a matter like this, is almost criminal. It’s everybody’s business. Mrs. Ragner’s, yours, mine, your mother’s, all your relations’, the other Mrs. Fury’s, her relations’, your aunt’s in Ireland, your dumb grandfather’s. Why did you do it? Answer me. Now! Do you suppose I am blind—that I have lived here for nine—ten years without learning what kind of creatures people are, to what depths they will go when egged on by their selfish—their selfishness? Do you know what kindness is? Would you know how to repay it? Wait—one can’t talk here. Come this way. I’ll tell you what my little discovery was. Also I want you to understand me better. Yes. We must settle this pressing matter. D’you see? A personal one—you go in front! That’s right—you are being sensible now.’ He followed Peter Fury into the kitchen.

  ‘Sit down there,’ he said. ‘You’re what I call an intelligent fool,’ said Mr. Corkran. ‘You’ve been here on two or three occasions, and for a certain consideration you’ve had money from Mrs. Ragner. When you leave here you go straight to another woman. Lucky fellow who can tamper with two fires at the same time. But is it fair? And now—after the kindness that has been shown you. Yes, and I go so far as to say that this kindness was also extended to your mother, who has shown how to repay it. I have looked after Mrs. Ragner’s interests for nearly ten years. Think of that! And naturally I am interested in her. She is a woman who can easily be led away by a person like you. There was my little discovery. I happened, pure coincidence, I happened to be doing some business in the south end of the city, and naturally I called to see your married brother. Purely business. He unfortunately wasn’t there. You know the rest. Further, Mrs. Ragner knows this. You can’t do things like this, young man, and get away with it. Women are curious creatures. And what is the result? The result is that Mrs. Ragner, on my advice, has decided to call for an immediate settlement of an account that has gone on far too long—far too long!

  ‘Briefly, she’ll put you back where you belong. Understand? Now get out! And understand this. We are doing nothing unusual. We are doing nothing that reflects upon either our dignity or principle. We are merely deciding to bring the matter to a close. Your mother is an impossible client. She’s different from any client we ever had. That is why Mrs. Ragner wishes the matter closed. It was not she, but I—yes, I, who made it possible for your mother to get a loan at all. But when it comes to the point of taking a mean advantage of a woman—especially at a time when she least realizes what she is doing—well, it’s time to say, Stop! Take that woman away from her money, even for a moment, and she is useless. Her power is gone. It’s the only power she has, and it is me who helps her use it. Understand me? I do believe she thought she had fallen in love with you! But how mean you were! Get out! Get out!’

  ‘You swine! You spied on me! You followed me about! You bastard—you.’

  Mr. Corkran gripped Peter by the shoulders and dragged him from the kitchen. In the hall he picked him from the ground and carried him to the door. Still holding him, he opened the door and threw him down the steps.

  ‘That’s where you belong,’ he said. ‘On the bottom step. And that’s where you’ll find that wife of your brother’s, if you’ll only open those goo-goo eyes of yours and see things for what they are. You’re a fool! A fool!’ Then he slammed the door. He heard his name called.

  ‘Corkran!’

  ‘Coming! Coming now, mam,’ he called back, stopping to fasten his shoe.

  ‘I’m in the front sitting-room,’ she called out to her servant.

  Mr. Corkran found her seated at the trestle-table.

  ‘Sit down,
Corkran,’ she said.

  ‘Very good, mam,’ he replied. He noticed that the large black ledger was open. The woman did not look up at him at all—she was, in fact, very busy studying figures.

  ‘I have decided to send a final note to that woman in Hatfields. You see, one is absolutely forced—it is now over twenty-four hours since you delivered the note, and she has not been here! I had in mind calling personally.’

  ‘I am very glad you are closing this account, mam, I’ve noticed quite lately how worried you looked. You didn’t seem yourself, somehow, mam, and if I may say so, I am very, very glad you have made this decision. I feel you’ll be your ordinary self again, mam. Of course, it was all my fault really, for I let the woman in.’

  ‘But her daughter was already on the books here, Corkran. Have you forgotten?’

  ‘Maybe, mam. But now, speaking of Mrs. Kilkey, I am suddenly remembering. If I may say so, mam, don’t you regret your undue consideration, then? I mean, cancelling that surety. I could not understand that, because I remember that only that week I advised you not to renew any more loans for the Hatfields woman. I have had a feeling all along, mam, that they were a troublesome crowd, and I still believe, mam, that this woman will make trouble. I repeat that I am very, very sorry you showed such consideration to Mrs. Kilkey. It’s not like you, mam, to do such things.’ He looked at her from under his hand as he scratched his forehead.

  ‘I really believe you admire me, Corkran,’ she said.

  Yes. There was a look of admiration upon this Corkran’s face, and she warmed to it. Then she continued:

  ‘However, to get back to the present. People do the queerest things. The Kilkeys are no longer under any obligation to us, so we need not concern ourselves there. Yes, I admit, Corkran, I let myself be caught out there. Now I ask myself why I did it.’

  ‘Only because you weren’t being yourself, mam. Kindness caught you out.’