The Maltese Angel

by Catherine Cookson

  And it was at this point there came into his mind the thought that she must not be put to the test …

  It was almost a week later when he forced himself to enter his daughter’s bedroom. It was mid-morning and she was sitting by the window; and as he slowly approached her, she turned her head towards him and the expression on her face seemed to alter slightly. And when he took the seat opposite her, she actually leant a little towards him, and a strange sound issued from her opening mouth.

  Jessie, who had been straightening the coverlets on the bed, rushed towards them now, saying, ‘Daddy, did you hear that? She was trying to say your name.’

  He shook his head. ‘It was merely a sound.’

  ‘But she has never…never made that sound before.’ And she bent close to her sister now and said, ‘Say it again, Angela. Say “Daddy”.’

  Angela looked at her, and her stare became blank for a moment. Then her eyelids blinking, she again made the sound, and now it was distinct: ‘Dad…dy.’ The word was drawn out, but it was certainly ‘Daddy’.

  Ward lowered his chin onto his chest and bit hard on his lip; then, his hands reaching out blindly, he picked up Angela’s fragile one from where it was lying limp on her dressing gown and pressed it between his palms, before laying it gently back on her knee; then rising from the chair, he made to go out of the room, only for Jessie to step in front of him before he reached the door.

  Looking up into his face and with a sob in her voice, she said, ‘It’s a start. She’ll come back now; and she’ll be your Angela again. She will…she will. And she’ll need you more than ever now, Daddy.’

  Then her father made a gesture that brought the tears streaming from her eyes, for he put out his hand and gently stroked her cheek as he said, ‘You’re a good girl, Jessie, such a good girl.’ And with this he left the room, and Jessie moved to the other window, where she pressed her mouth against the wooden casement in order to stifle the sound of her sobbing and in an effort to subdue her emotion…Her daddy had caressed her cheek; her daddy had spoken to her like that; her daddy had looked at her as he had never done before, with a deep kindness in his eyes. She was overcome. Whatever happened in the future, even though his whole devotion be again centred on Angela, she wouldn’t mind; in fact, she would pray that it would happen, because from now on he would be aware that she was there: he had touched her; he had caressed her cheek, and looked at her as he had never done before.

  Patsy stood in the little sitting-cum-living-room-cum-kitchen of Carl’s cottage. She had just put the new print cover she had made on the biscuit pad of the two-seat settle that flanked the wall between the open range and the scullery door. The cover matched the pad on the seat of the armchair at the other side of the fireplace; the small wooden table in the middle of the room was covered with a chenille cloth much too large for it so that the ends almost reached the floor; although, as Patsy thought, it gave a tone to the room, for it wasn’t everybody who had a chenille table cover, and she’d always treasure it, for it was the combined wedding present from those in the Hollow; even the Protestants, her mother had said, had tipped up their coppers. On the wall opposite the fireplace was a small delph rack, and it held a full teaset, besides four fine dinner plates with matching side plates. All this was a present from Annie: it had been her own wedding present many years earlier, but she had always felt that the tea service was too good to use, and so it had remained stacked away in a cupboard. But on a Sunday she had used the other two plates belonging to the dinner service. But when they were accidentally broken she had replaced them with cheap white ones from the market stall.

  Patsy had been very touched by this gift, and she had dared to kiss the giver, being more than surprised when Annie had taken her into her arms and hugged her for a moment before roughly pushing her aside, saying, ‘Now then, that’s enough of that kind of palaver.’

  She was now waiting for Carl to return after breaking the news to the master of tomorrow morning’s event.

  A few minutes later, when she heard his step on the path, she flew to the door and pulled it open, and when he stepped in he put his arms about her and hugged her tightly. Then when they were seated on the settle, still enfolded, she said, ‘Well, how did it go? What did he say?’

  Carl turned his head away and looked towards the fire. ‘I’m so sorry for him, Patsy,’ he said; ‘he makes my heart ache, so much so that at times I think I could cry. I do. I do really.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know. In a way I feel the same. But what did he say to you when you told him?’

  ‘Well, he stared at me for some time without saying a word, and I didn’t know what his response was going to be; and then it was surprising, for his voice was quiet and he said, “I can only wish you to be happy. I’ve always wished that for you. I think you know that.” That’s what he said. And when I said, “We’ll just have the morning off; we’ll be back about twelve,” he said, “There’s no hurry. There’s no hurry. Annie will help, and I’ll be there.” And then, what d’you think? He went to a drawer and took out this.’ He put his hand into his pocket and brought out a chamois-leather bag, and opening it, he poured ten golden sovereigns onto her hand.

  As she looked at him, her mouth agape, he said, ‘And that’s not all: he’s putting up my wage by five shillings a week, and yours by three.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Well, what am I telling you? Eight shillings a week in all. That’s what he said.’

  ‘And that means he’s got no intention of letting us go then?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so, my dear, because he needs you more inside than he does me outside.’

  ‘Oh no, no. You’re runnin’ the place, as you have done for years. It would gallop downhill if you weren’t here, and he knows it. But oh, I never expected him to be so kind.’

  ‘Nor me; but at the same time, if anybody’s worked for a raise, it’s been you. Because who would want your job inside there? Fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, because you’ve never had your full time off for weeks.’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t matter.’ She now put her arms around his neck and said, ‘Where else would I want to be but where my heart is? An’ tomorrow my heart will be right in this house.’ She moved her head and looked around the small room. ‘This is my palace…our palace, an’ I’ll keep it as bright as such, even if I’ve got to take hours from the night.’

  ‘That you won’t.’ He pulled her to him now, laughing down into her face. ‘You’ll do it some time in the day, but not in the night.’

  Her laughter now joined his; but presently she said, ‘Never in me life, Carl, did I think it would ever happen. I’ve dreamt of it a long time, while tellin’ meself it wouldn’t be my luck, me from the Hollow and you from here.’

  ‘Oh Patsy. Patsy. Never look down on yourself like that.’

  ‘I don’t…not really, but others do. An’ you know they do. And there’s families down there, I know, who have already said I’ve got above meself. And there are others from the village who will think you’re stoopin’ very low in takin’ Gibson’s dairymaid, and her from the Hollow. I know what people think; I’ve been wide awake to it for years.’

  ‘Now look here!’ He had her by the shoulders, shaking her now. ‘There’s no real difference atween you an’ me. I don’t even know who my people were, brought up in a workhouse, then farmed out to a villain of a man. You know who your parents are, and your father’s a decent fellow.’ He made no reference to her mother, but went on, ‘Tomorrow you’ll be my wife, and that’s all that matters to me—’ then seriously, he added, ‘If poor Parson Noble can stand up to it. You know, I’m worried about that man: he looks as though he’ll not last much longer; he’s never been the same since that night, for he blames himself and the lantern show. But’—he smiled now—‘he’ll be there, never fear, to make you the mother of my children, and I want at least six, oh yes, and I want them mostly boys because they can claim better wages than the girls. And we’ll start them off early i
n the fields…’

  Her body shaking with laughter, she beat her closed fists on his chest: and then they were holding tight again, until of a sudden he almost thrust her from him, saying, ‘Only one more night. Come, you’d better go back to the house.’ And silent now, she let him lead her out of the cottage.

  Nine

  Carl and Patsy were married in the first week of June, and the following weeks were taken up with long hours and hard work, but no matter how tired they might be some part of the night was given over to their love for each other; and so they were content and happy, at least between themselves. But the atmosphere in the house could not help but impinge on their lives, as more and more work fell to Patsy’s lot within the house, and more responsibility, besides the actual work, had to be taken on by Carl on the farm, for the master seemed to have forgotten that he owned the place and therefore had decisions to make. Carl was forever asking him if it would be permissible to take this or that step with regard to the rotation of the crops; or about the price to be charged for what they might be sending to market on a Saturday, for at the time prices of farm produce were very unstable indeed.

  And then there was the feeling emanating from the village. This wasn’t pointed so much at Carl, but at the men, the Irishmen from the Hollow, for it had been made plain to them that they were not welcome in either inn and, further, some of them were finding it not only difficult but impossible to get set on as casual labour on two of the other four farms hereabouts.

  At one period, Carl felt he had to bring this to the notice of the master, and when he did so, saying, ‘Can you do anything for them?’ Ward had answered, ‘Leave it with me;’ then the following day he had said, ‘The old barn wants renewing. Give the first choice to Tim Regan, Mullins and McNabb. I’ll be out there to see them myself but, generally, you keep an eye on them.’

  The only regular visitor to the house was Philip Patten. Sometimes it would be twice a week, although he never missed looking in at least once. Angela had accepted him, but guardedly, for at seven months her belly was prominent and in a way grotesque, for her slight body did not seem strong enough to support it. On one particular day after she had indicated she was in pain by rubbing her sides with her hand, Patsy had spoken to the doctor about it.

  Angela was in bed at the time and when Jessie had pulled back the bedcover and the doctor had gone to lay his hands on the mound covered by the lawn nightdress, the girl thrust out her hands like claws and tried to drag the bedclothes back over her, and staring wildly at him and shaking her head, she emitted loud sounds of protest.

  He had, of course, been quick to reassure her, saying, ‘It’s all right, Angela. It’s all right. I just wanted to find out where your pain is coming from. Don’t disturb yourself, my dear.’ And as he straightened up he looked towards the far window and intimated to her: ‘It’s lovely outside. The autumn leaves are turning. You could sit out today, couldn’t you? Will you try?’

  However, she made no response, and so he picked up his bag, and from the landing just beyond the open door he beckoned Patsy towards him; then said to her, softly, ‘If she keeps rubbing her thighs and evinces any sign of further pain, send for me.’

  ‘You think the baby might be coming, Doctor?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s a possibility; she’s seven months gone. It…it was early March, and this is the beginning of October: she’s past seven months. But there…’

  ‘It’s to be hoped she goes the full time, Doctor, ’cos in any case, it’s not goin’ to be easy for her.’

  They looked at each other as old acquaintances might, and by now they could be termed such, for he had spoken to her frankly during all his visits, more so than he did to Jessie. And now he asked, ‘Where is Miss Jessie?’

  It was a whispered reply: ‘I made her take a walk in the fresh air, Doctor. She’s never out of the house. The master’s gone out this mornin’ on his rounds. That’s something an’ all. He was examining the new barn—that’s been made out of the old ’un, you know—an’ then I espied him going over the fields. I…I told Miss Jessie which way he had gone. Just in passin’ like, you know, Doctor? I thought it might be nice for them both if they could walk together in the air.’

  Philip Patten said nothing for a moment. Then he put a hand on Patsy’s shoulder, saying, ‘You’ve got a wise and kind head on your shoulders, Patsy. Should everything else fail, these two qualities will always stand you in good stead.’

  Her colour had risen; and she laughed gently, but then glanced quickly towards the open bedroom door as if to brush the compliment aside and said, ‘That isn’t a general opinion, Doctor. Even me ma’s got a name for me.’

  ‘What is that?’ He was smiling as he leant towards her.

  ‘The Black Vixen.’

  ‘Oh…never!’

  ‘Oh yes; when I wouldn’t do her biddin’ as a child, that’s what she used to call me.’

  ‘But no longer, I hope.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. There are still times when the stour flies.’

  He flapped his hand at her as he went away smiling, thinking he well knew the reason why the stour flew, for her mother was one of the laziest women he knew of. The house was like the proverbial pigsty. Yet laughter was never far from the woman’s face. But here was her daughter, solemn-faced mostly, yet beautifully solemn-faced. Oh yes; she was a bonny piece, and she was as clean as a new pin. That had likely been the result of her training under Annie, those long years ago.

  In the kitchen, Annie enquired, ‘Well, how do you find her, Doctor?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure, Annie,’ he replied. ‘Only I’ve told Patsy if the child continues to have those pains in her side to let me know. I’ll be quite close round about for the next couple of days, but on Friday I’m taking two days off. I haven’t had any leave for some time. It’s to be the equivalent of a cowman’s holiday spent helping with the harvest, for I’m going to attend a couple of medical lectures.’

  ‘Oh. Well, what’ll happen then, Doctor, say she comes on on Friday? Shall I have to send for his nibs?’

  ‘Oh, I hope not. But if it should happen that someone is needed, well, you’ll have to.’

  ‘He’s kept his distance all these months, hasn’t he, Doctor?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose he has, Annie.’

  ‘Wanted to show the village which side he was on, I suppose.’

  He could have replied, ‘Not so much the village, Annie, but the gentry round about, at least those who were present at that special Sunday service.’ But Annie spoke his thoughts for him by remarking caustically, ‘He’s like the vicar, frightened he’ll lose his place at the big tables.’

  He laughed now as he said, ‘Perhaps…perhaps you’re right. Well, I must be off. Something in the oven smells good.’ He sniffed towards it, and she answered, ‘Nothing more than usual…a bit of pork,’ then added, ‘onion sauce and a suet pudding. Workhouse fare, really.’

  He chuckled as he went out of the room repeating, ‘Yes, Annie, workhouse fare.’

  He paid a brief visit on the Thursday afternoon. Jessie was with her sister, and her report was, ‘Yes, sometimes she does rub her sides; but not all the time,’ to which Philip said, ‘Good. Good,’ and went on to repeat to her what he had said to Annie previously, that he would be away on the morrow and Saturday; but should there be an emergency she must call Doctor Wheatley; and she answered that she too hoped nothing would happen to make her call on Doctor Wheatley, but that she also hoped he would enjoy his little holiday, to which he smilingly replied, ‘I don’t know about enjoy. If I manage to come away a little wiser, that will be satisfactory.’ Then he pulled a slight face as he said, ‘He is one of the great men from London, and I am very lucky to have been given a seat,’ but immediately brought the subject matter back to her: ‘Where is your father?’ he asked. And when Jessie said, ‘He’s out on the farm,’ he exclaimed, ‘Oh, that’s good. I’m glad he’s getting out and about again. I won’t trouble to find him, but tell him
everything’s in order.’

  ‘I will, Doctor.’

  On returning to the bedroom, she said to Angela, ‘Isn’t Doctor Patten nice?’

  But to this Angela made no reply; what she did do was to place her hands down her sides again, and her face twisted slightly, causing her to grimace as if she were experiencing pain.

  Jessie peered down into Angela’s face to make sure she was asleep before going round to the other side of the bed to turn the lamp down low and then taking her place in the bed beside her sister.

  This pattern of childhood and youth had been taken up again some weeks earlier when it became evident that Jessie could no longer spend her nights dozing in a chair by the side of the bed and be expected to keep awake and attend to her sister during the day.

  She hadn’t slept in the bed from the start of Angela’s illness because the girl herself had shunned close proximity with anyone at all, even with her. That Angela was aware of what was being said to her had been made plain one day when Patsy had spoken sternly to her, saying, ‘You understand me, Miss Angela, don’t you? You understand when I say that if you want to have Miss Jessie tend you during the day then you’ve got to let her sleep at nights, and in bed.’

  Jessie lay on her side for some time gazing at the indistinct mound in the bedclothes and wondering, as she often did, what would happen when the baby was born. Would Angela act as a mother to it? And how would her father treat it? Would it be a boy or a girl? Whatever it was, she knew it would be strange to have a small baby in the house; and, further, the work shared between her and Patsy would probably be doubled. She wondered if she would be able to approach her father for help in the house. As it was now, but for himself in his room at the far end of the landing, she was alone: Annie was in her cottage, and Carl and Patsy were in theirs. This latter fact did not now disturb her. For the first week or so it had, when she would think of Patsy no longer sleeping above the stables, but in the cottage with Carl, and in bed with Carl. But gradually it registered in her mind that it was an established fact, and it registered, too, that they were both so very necessary inside and outside the house. And so she wisely came round to telling herself it was done. She had her father, and he needed her. Oh yes, he needed her. But when the baby came there would be broken nights, for babies had to be seen to during the night, and if Angela did not fully return to her normal self, then she would never be able to take charge of the child.