The Rag Nymph

by Catherine Cookson

  had done the clog dance to Ben's playing

  his tin whistle.

  That was another thing that gave her pleasure; to listen to Ben playing his whistle. He could make it sad or gay, or even funny. Ben liked Annie, and Annie liked Ben. But she was older than him. In fact, she was very old; she was twenty-four years old and she worked in the mill and earned eight shillings a week.

  She herself earned a wage. Mrs Aggie gave her a shilling a week, because, as she said, she was her assistant; for there must be someone to hold the horse and look after the cart and see that the children didn't nick.., steal the clothes off it.

  Mrs Aggie was now paying a visit to one of her good houses. She called it a good house, because the maid always kept things for her. Mrs Aggie would give her anything up to a shilling for them.

  Generally, they were the cast-offs of two children in the house who happened to be about her own age, and this could mean a pretty flock coming her way, but only if, Mrs Aggie said, she kept her nose clean.

  That was a funny saying, wasn't it? because her nose was always clean.

  She now turned from the pony and looked towards the side gate separated from the front gate by a hedge of trees. All the houses along this road had two gates.

  From where she was standing she couldn't see the house, but she knew it was big, red-bricked and square. They were all big, red-bricked and square along this road.

  It would be very nice, she told herself, to have a house red-bricked and square with two entrances.

  Perhaps one day she might live in a house like this.

  Perhaps, in the years to come, she would get Mrs Aggie to move, but that would only be when she was too old to take the cart out.

  A snort from the pony interrupted her daydreaming; and immediately her slight body stiffened: walking quickly down the road towards her was a man, and even over the distance she knew he was smiling at her.

  She almost jumped forward and darted towards the side entrance, dashed through the gate, up the shrub-bordered path and into the yard where, at a far door, Aggie was standing in the act of handing something to the maid And they both turned startled

  faces and looked at her, as she cried, 'The man! Mrs Aggie. The man! He's... he's in the road.'

  Bending and whipping up the wicker basket full of odd garments, Aggie nodded hastily towards the girl, saying, 'Ta, lass. Ta.' Then as fast as her legs would carry her, she shambled down the path towards the gate. Outside, she looked up and down the road; then turning to Millie, she said,

  'There's nobody here now.'

  'He was, Mrs Aggie, he was. And ... and it was the same man who ... who took off my

  cap that. day when he was with the lady, and before that, asking if ... if I'd like to see the fair on the green.'

  'Get up.' Aggie pointed to the seat at the front of the cart, and immediately Millie had done so, she gripped the iron frame of the seat, heaved herself on to the first step, then, almost with a lunge, on to the seat; but this time she didn't say, as she usually did, 'I'm past this; I'll sit on the back in future and you'll take him,' but she jerked the reins and put the pony into a trot.

  Twenty minutes later, she was driving into the yard. Neither she nor Millie exchanged a word during the journey, evidence of the seriousness of

  the situation felt by them both.

  Ben was there to help her down, and once on the ground, she said, 'I want to see you inside.'

  'Oh?' He turned an enquiring gaze upon her as she marched towards the house, but before following her he held out his hands to Millie as she went to jump off the last step, saying now in a low tone, 'It looks a good enough day' -he pointed to the back of the cart- 'what's up?'

  She had her head down as she said, 'That man, the one who frightened me. He was on the road.

  He was smiling, and I ran to the house and told Mrs Aggie.'

  Even before she was finished speaking he was walking quickly from her towards the house.

  Aggie had taken her hat and coat off and had dropped on to the settle, and as he entered the room she said immediately, 'Somethin' will have to be... '

  but paused as Millie came in on Ben's heels, and she nodded towards her saying, 'Go and take your things off and set the tray.'

  Millie was about to speak, but Aggie barked, 'Go on! Do as you're told for once, without opening your mouth.'

  After Millie had flounced away to do her bidding, Aggie said, 'She came in that yard as white as a sheet. She senses what he's after: she can't exactly explain it, but she knows that he could take her away. Something's got to be done. I can't keep a stronger tag on her than I do now, almost night and day. I hadn't left the cart more than five minutes.

  Oh! no, not that.' She shook her head. 'The lass had apparently got the bundle ready for me. A nice lot of stuff: a whole man's outfit an' all, the granddad had died; an' there was bairns' clothes. I gave her half a dollar this time. She was pleased an' all. But before she could say a word that 'un came rushin'

  in.' She sighed deeply before ending, 'What's to be done, Ben?'

  He was standing before her, one arm extended, the hand gripping the mantelpiece, and he said, 'You can't keep her here much longer. I've told you that before. He or one of his bloody cronies will pick her up. I don't know how he found out that she belonged to that lass, but find out he has. God help her! She seems to be suitable material for what he wants: her father a murderer and her mother a prostitute.'

  'The parson's wife's letter didn't actually say he was a murderer. A man had died through him, that's what she said.'

  'Well, you don't get twelve years for a busted jaw or a black eye. I thought it odd when you wrote and asked her how it had come about an' you got no answer. And d'you remember what else you put in the letter? You asked her if she would like to have the bairn, her being a minister's wife. But no; their Christianity wasn't goin' to go that far.'

  'Blast her to hell's flames!' And with this interjection Aggie now beat her closed fist against the end of the settle as she added angrily, 'If she had acted like the friend that she was supposed to be to the mother I wouldn't be faced with this lot tonight.'

  'You could send her away to a school.'

  'How could you be sure that he wouldn't pick her up from there? He could dress up one of his ladies to look respectable an' make a call.'

  'He wouldn't know where you put her. Anyway, if it was some place like where those sisters are.'

  Aggie was on her feet now. 'Nuns? No. I'm surprised at your suggestin' them.'

  'I thought it would have appealed to you, being' as your friend Fenwick's one of their ilk.'

  'He's not one of their ilk, not in that way; he's respectable, an' there are respectable ones.'

  'He's a Catholic, nevertheless. And it surprises me that they took him into the Force, 'cos he's made no secret of it an' you know yourself how they're thought about.'

  'Aye, I do, by the Protestants, the Baptists, the Methodists, the Temperance-ites, an' every other bloody one of the ranters. But I didn't think you were among them.'

  'Oh, me? You know me, I run with the hare an'

  hunt with the hounds: I'd suck up to the devil himself for a penny.'

  'Oh, shut your mouth an' talk serious about what we're goin' to do.'

  'Well, I'll talk serious. You've got to get her away from here if you don't want her to end up where her mother was; an' the best place, as I see it, is a closed school, an' there's not a closer one, I should imagine, than the one under them sisters. Now don't let your hair rise. You asked me advice an' I'm givin' it to you. I get around, as you know; I've seen all the schools, right from the ragged one, the penny, the tuppence, the threepence, right up to the fourpence a week one. I've seen the type of bairns that go in and out of them. And I'll tell you something else. I've heard mothers enquiring why their little daughter hasn't come home. Even little boys have gone missing. There's a racket goin' on, Aggie; but you know as well as me it's been goin' on for years.

  Probably
always has done. But the middle class an'

  the upper lot don't seem to recognise it goes on, not until lately anyway, when one or two ladies seem to be trying to get somethin' done about it. As far as I understand from the gossip there's nothing'll come out of it by goin' to the polis; it's got to come from Parliament. They've got to make a law, like, an' them that break it... well' - he drew in his breath noisily 'I would like to see them swing.' He turned abruptly away now, saying, 'Take my advice, Aggie, get her into a closed school.'

  'What closed school?'

  Millie had come into the room carrying a tin tray, and as she put it down on the table, she looked from one to the other and said, 'What are you talkin' about, closed schools? Is the school going to close?'

  In answer, Aggie did not bawl at her but said quietly, 'Come here, love. Sit down there.' She pointed to the couch, and when Millie was seated she lowered herself down beside her and, taking her hand, said, 'You're frightened of that man,

  aren't you?'

  Millie bowed her head and said, 'Yes. Yes, I am.'

  'Why?'

  'Why?' She was looking up into Aggie's face now.

  'Well,' She thought for a moment. 'I ... I didn't like his face and.., and the way he got hold of my arm that first time,' she said. 'And then, when he brought the lady.., no, she wasn't a lady, she was just a woman, and her voice was common and she called me duckie and ... and I said to them, "I'm going to scream." And when there were two men passing he let go of me and I ran. I ... I--' She turned to Ben now, saying, 'I don't know why I was afraid, they just made me afraid. They weren't like . .. well, ordinary people. I don't know.' She shook

  her head. 'I just didn't like them, nor him. His face was nasty, and he kept smiling.'

  'Well, love, you're nine years old, coming on ten quick, an' you've got a head on your shoulders, so, I'm goin' to talk to you straight. He's a bad man.

  A very bad man. And I'll tell you somethin' else: your mother wouldn't have died if it hadn't been for that man.'

  'But ... but Mama died of a fever, you said she did.'

  'Yes, it was caused by that man.'

  'How? How can a man cause a fever?'

  'It's hard to explain. But... but when you're a bit older I'll... I'll tell you how. In the meantime, tell me, has.., has he ever said anything to you except askin' you if you would like to go to the fair?'

  'No; but the woman said she would show me some pretty dresses, new ones, not--' She looked downwards now before she said, 'Smelly stuff off the cart.'

  There was silence for a moment, and then Millie lifted her head as she said, 'He ... he called me a funny name. I... I didn't tell you before because it was about the rags.'

  'What did he call you then to do with the rags?'

  'Rag Niff. That's what I thought it was at first but when he said it the next time it sounded different, it was nymph, rag nymph, that's what he called me.

  "Hello, Rag Nymph," he said.'

  'Nymph?' Aggie was looking at Ben, and he looked questioningly at Millie as she said, 'A nymph is a kind of fairy, I think. I've read about them in one of my stories. They live in woods and dance round toadstools.'

  The almost simultaneous intaking of breath by both Ben and Aggie was audible; then, again taking Millie's hand, Aggie said, 'Listen carefully, child.

  That man is bent on takin' you away from us. He is an evil man, bad, very bad. Now neither Ben there, nor me, can watch you every moment of the day.

  You go to school. Ben takes you there and he brings you back, but there are the in-between times, and evil men are clever. And then there's the time with the cart when you stand, like this mornin', lookin'

  after it and the pony. Well, you know, if you hadn't been quick and run into me he could have caught up with you. And what then? Now, I want the best for

  you, the best that I can give you, because in a way you belong to me now, and Ben there.' She put her hand out towards him. 'And we both.., well--' She could not bring herself to say 'love you', but instead said, 'care what happens to you. So, we think for a little while ahead you should go to a school where you'll be looked after; I mean, where you can sleep, and where he won't get at you.'

  'I ... Oh! Mrs Aggie, I don't want to go to a school where I won't be able to get out and come home. Why can't you tell the police about him?'

  Aggie looked helplessly at Ben and he, moving forward and dropping on to his hunkers, brought his face level with Millie's as he said, 'He ... he hasn't done anything yet. He hasn't run off with you. There's what you call no case against him, not at present, anyway. Aggie's friend knows about him, but, as he said, they can't pin anything on to him; they've been tryin' for a long time. But he's got to be caught in the act. You understand?'

  'Yes' - she nodded at him - 'I understand. Oh

  ... oh, Ben, I ... I don't want to leave, I mean'

  - there was a break in her voice now - 'I don't want to go away. I ... I love it here; and ...

  and I keep everything clean, don't I?' She turned towards Aggie, who had to turn away and look towards the fireplace.

  It was Ben who answered for her, saying, 'Aggie knows that. You've got the place like a little palace, or a big palace.' He grinned now. 'It's never been so clean in its life. You're a marvellous worker; and what's more, you make the best currant buns I've ever tasted. Oh, love.' He now put out a hand and stroked her cheek. 'I'll miss you; we'll all miss you. But you see, you'll come home for the holidays, Easter and Christmas; and they have holidays in the summer an' all, don't they, Aggie?'

  Aggie mumbled something in her throat; then, hastily pulling herself up from the couch, she said,

  'Well, now we all know where we stand, so let's eat.

  I've never had a bite since mornin',' which made Ben exclaim on a laugh, 'I can't believe that. Never! Can you?' He looked down on the bent head, but there was no response from Millie. And now he put his hand on her hair and stroked it, saying, 'It'll be all right. You'll see, it'll be all right. And you'll be what they call educated. Oh aye, and you'll come home and you'll cock a snoot at us.'

  'I never will. I never will.' The tear-stained face was turned up towards him now. 'I'll never turn my nose up at you, and never at Mrs Aggie. Never!'

  'No, I know you won't, me dear. That's one thing I'm sure of. But come on, set the table. Here's another one that's as hungry as a hunter. We'll leave the tea till after, to wash the chitterlings down. I love chitterlings, don't you?'

  'Not very much.'

  'Go on with you! Go on! the dish is in the pantry.

  Go and bring it.'

  He let her leave the room before going across to Aggie, who was standing now looking down into the fire, and he patted the back of her shoulder,

  saying, 'You're doin' the best thing, Aggie, the only thing. That kind of education will take her back likely to what she was; I mean, what she could have been. 'Cos you know somethin'?' He bent his head forward and whispered now, 'She hasn't got past the "bloody old cow stage" completely.

  The other day I heard her come out with a bloody.

  When Laddie kicked over a bucket of: mash, she said,

  "You bloody silly donkey." '

  Aggie turned quickly towards him now, saying,

  'She didn't!'

  'She did.'

  'Well' - she straightened her broad shoulders 'perhaps everything's turning out for the best then.

  Let's pray to God it is, anyway.'

  'Oh Aggie, that's a daft thing to say. As if He'd have any time for us with the mob of Holy Joes He's got to see to. You might as well hope to get manure from a rockin' horse's backside as help from Him.'

  Her hand came out and she thrust him backwards on to the settle.

  And that's how Millie saw them when she entered the kitchen again, carrying the plate of chitterlings: the two people she cared for most, and who were about to lose her, laughing their heads off.

  The queer feeling came over her, that choking feeling in her throat which she experience
d in the night, when she was lying awake trying to recall and piece together dim, fleeting memories of another time in which she had lived, when things had been both happy and sad, when angry broken sentences would not meet and so explain the odd pictures that formed in her mind. It was then that the lump in her throat would break and spill the tears from her eyes and cause her to make choking sounds which she did not try to prevent, knowing they would not penetrate Mrs Aggie's deep snoring.

  But the sound she now made in her throat brought both Aggie and Ben's eyes on her, and as she turned and fled from the room and Ben made to go after her, Aggie's voice halted him, saying firmly, 'Leave her be! She'll cry over more than that before she's finished.'

  TWO

  The House of Christ the Saviour was situated in the better-class district of Benton Fields. Aggie had passed the grounds many times and noticed that the stone wall was topped with broken glass and that there was a double wooden gate with an iron bell pull attached to its side. She'd had no idea what the house looked like, until she was going through that wooden gate when, holding Millie by the hand, she espied it in the distance.

  The nun who admitted them appeared to be

  covered from head to foot apart from her eyes, nose, and mouth, for after she had bolted the gate behind them she tucked her bare hands into her sleeves, then led the way up a gravel path, on either side of which a lawn extended as far as a further high, stone wall, its top also embedded with glass. Judging by the front of it, the house was quite large, for it showed three windows each side of the front door, the same above them, and a row of small windows jutting out from the roof.

  Without a word, the nun ushered them through the broad, thick oak door and into a tiled hall, there to be confronted by a statue of the Virgin Mary with the Child in her arms, and above her, on the wall, a large crucifix hanging at such an angle it appeared that Christ's bent head was viewing Himself as a child in His mother's arms.

  There were numerous doors leading from the hall, and the nun approached one, knocked, and when bidden to enter, she thrust open the door, stood aside and proclaimed in a low voice scarcely above a whisper, 'Mrs Winkowski, Reverend Mother.'