Kate Hannigan

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Like it?’ he shouted.

  ‘I don’t quite know,’ she called back. ‘Yes,’ she turned her head and smiled at him, ‘I think I do.’ ‘Splendid!’

  On they sped; past the Simonside school and the little group of cottages, past the Maze Hall and into the open country; only a mile or so from the docks but seeming, in its rural spaciousness and neatly ploughed fields, to be in another world.

  ‘The country looks different from a car.’

  ‘What’s that?’ shouted Rodney.

  ‘I said, the country looks different from a car,’ called Kate, leaning forward eagerly. ‘It looks so beautiful in the moonlight, but a little unreal. I feel I’m taking part in a fairy story,’ she laughed gaily.

  Suddenly Rodney stopped the car. She looked at him enquiringly.

  ‘Kate, don’t go to Midnight Mass!’ he brought out with a rush.

  ‘What!’ Kate retreated into her seat.

  ‘Let’s drive on. Let’s talk and laugh for an hour…will you?’

  Something in his voice startled her; she leant back, tight against the leather, but said nothing.

  God, he thought, what had made him propose that? She would get it all wrong. Hell! Well, why not? What harm was there in taking her for a drive? His wife would likely be sitting in a corner with Barrington at this moment, promising easy seduction, with her eyes. Damn Stella! But he must make it clear to this girl that it was a drive he was proposing, and nothing more…‘Don’t misunderstand me, Kate,’ he said; ‘please don’t misunderstand me. You see, I was going back to an empty house, and I don’t think anyone should be alone on Christmas Eve’…Heaven, he did sound sorry for himself, he thought. ‘And there’s another thing,’ he went on. ‘All these years I’ve known you, I’ve wanted to talk to you, but there’s never been the opportunity up till now.’…He must be drunk, rattling on like this…‘You know, Kate, you’ve grown from a very young girl into…well, to say the least, a self-composed woman, and I’ve often wondered how it came about. Don’t think me rude, Kate, please.’ He looked closely at her. But her long, dark lashes lay practically on her cheeks, so he couldn’t see the effect of his words. Lord, what a fool he was! This was Stella’s fault, and Peter’s whisky…What was she thinking?…He gripped the wheel: ‘I’m sorry Kate, if I have annoyed you. I’ll turn the car round at the next bend and take you back. I suppose you have the impression that you are riding to Hell with the Devil?’

  Kate raised her eyes: ‘I could be going there in worse company.’

  ‘Kate, you’re not annoyed with me!’ He laughed in relief. ‘Am I to drive on?’

  She nodded. ‘But I must be back in Tyne Dock by a quarter past one at the latest, Doctor.’

  ‘You’ll be there on the dot, Kate.’ He got out and did some more winding.

  Kate sat up, as if throwing off a cloak. She watched him through the windscreen. He looked up, and their eyes met; they smiled at each other.

  On past Jarrow, Hebburn and Pelaw the car chunked in a soothing rhythm. They sat, silent now, just looking ahead, relaxed against the seats, feeling knit together in an exciting warmth.

  ‘Shall I stop on the top of one of the Felling Hills?’ asked Rodney; ‘where we can survey the world lying at our feet, as we talk.’

  ‘Yes, if you wish,’ replied Kate.

  Presently he drew up on the brow of a hill. Far away, like a strip of shining steel, lay the river. To the right, the town of Felling, its streets of little houses clinging to the hillside, rested at peace under the moon.

  Rodney brought the car off the road on to the grass verge of the open hilltop. ‘Put this rug around you,’ he said, lifting a heavy blanket from the back seat. ‘There!’ He leaned back and began to fill his pipe. ‘We’re all set for our talk, now,’ he said, giving her a sidelong smile.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Oh, Kate, don’t say it like that. It makes me feel I’m being rude and inquisitive.’

  ‘If you were inquisitive, you wouldn’t be asking me now, you would know already all there is to know; you can’t keep your life private in the fifteen streets.’

  ‘No, I suppose not…Well, the last time I spoke to you, Kate, you were engaged to be married. Something happened?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have Annie,’ said Kate; ‘he wanted me to leave her at home.’

  ‘Not have Annie?’ Rodney’s voice was incredulous.

  ‘No. He wanted me to leave her with my mother…for good. But I couldn’t give her up altogether, I couldn’t do it. If it wasn’t that it would upset my mother, I’d take her away now. But to leave her there, all her young life, while I was with someone…oh, you can see it was impossible!’

  ‘Of course, Kate. And it’s just as well you found out in time, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, and for him, too; for I wasn’t being quite fair to him.’

  She did not say where her unfairness lay.

  ‘Couldn’t Annie stay with you at the Tolmaches?’

  ‘Yes, they offered to have her years ago…But it’s my mother; she clings to Annie and…me.’

  ‘Of course…Yes, of course, I can see that.’

  ‘You know, Doctor, if I hadn’t had Annie I should never have met the Tolmaches, and I daren’t think what life without them would have been…Annie, you, Dorrie Clarke and Doctor Davidson, all leading me to the Tolmaches.’

  ‘Why give Dorrie Clarke credit for a virtuous deed?’ Rodney queried.

  ‘Because had she not hurt her leg you would never have sent out for Doctor Davidson, and had he not come I should never have learned about the Tolmaches. Some other girl would have got the place. He told me of it only to ease my mind; he is what Mr Bernard calls a psychologist.’

  Rodney looked at her in silence for a moment. ‘Mr Bernard gives you lessons, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kate, her voice vibrating with a depth of feeling; ‘nearly every day, except holidays, for six years, Mr Bernard has given me a lesson.’ She clasped her hands on top of the rug and stared across the hilltop, through the sparsely falling snow, into the star-laden sky where it came down to meet the river.

  Rodney, still staring at her, thought, And she has certainly profited by them. It seems incredible…‘Yes?’ he prompted.

  ‘Well, the first year was very hard work,’ Kate went on, ‘but I kept at it because I wanted to speak differently.’ She cast a swift glance at him, half apologetic. ‘Then followed a period during which I didn’t want to learn at all. But Mr Bernard encouraged me, and the desire suddenly came not only to speak differently but to think differently. From that time life changed entirely for me. Nothing can affect me in the same way as it did before, nothing!’

  ‘What does he teach you?’

  ‘Oh, mostly English, and appreciation of literature. He was a lecturer in English at Oxford, you know.’

  Rodney nodded, his eyes riveted on her face.

  ‘I’m doing German now, and I’ve done quite a bit of French. I can read French works - Honoré de Balzac and…’ She turned towards him, her blue eyes darkly bright with excitement. ‘You are the first one, Doctor, I’ve been able to talk to about it, other than the Tolmaches. Can you imagine what it means to me?’

  He didn’t answer, but continued to stare at her, his pipe held within a few inches of his mouth.

  ‘To leave the fifteen streets,’ she went on, ‘and live with those three people, day after day, to listen to them talking, to eat at the same table…Yes, I eat at the same table. Can you believe that?’ Her face was serious and her voice questioning, but still he didn’t answer. ‘And I know of people like Edmond Gosse, the critic…well, more than I do of you and Doctor Davidson. Mr Bernard has promised to take me to the House of Lords some day. He is a friend of Mr Gosse, who is librarian there. Do you read his articles in The Sunday Times?’

  Rodney shook his head.

  ‘Then there’s Swinburne and Robert Louis Stevenson, and Reade, men I’d never heard of. And I’ve read everything I ca
n find of Steele and Addison. I’ve even read Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.’ She was excited now, her hands clasped tight. ‘Every evening I read aloud to Mr Bernard; I’m reading Lord Chesterfield’s letters now, Mr Bernard likes their style. But I think Lord Chesterfield would have been a very dull man to live with; he didn’t like laughter, did he?’

  ‘I don’t know, Kate, I’ve never read him.’

  ‘Do you know what we are going to do in the New Year?’ she asked him eagerly. ‘Read Shakespeare, the four of us. We are to take so many parts each. King Lear first; there are nice long speeches in that for Mr Bernard to get his teeth into. Then The Taming of the Shrew. I am to speak Katherine’s part; I’ve already read it over and over again.’

  ‘The Taming of the Shrew?’ cried Rodney. ‘Why, Kate, what do you remember?…’

  ‘I say it is the moon.’ He made a dramatic gesture through the windscreen.

  ‘I know it is the moon,’ answered Kate, her face aglow.

  ‘Nay, then you lie; it is the blessed sun,’ said Rodney.

  ‘Then God be bless’d, it is the blessed sun:

  But sun it is not when you say it is not,

  And the moon changes even as your mind.

  What you will have it nam’d, even that it is;

  And so, it shall be so for Katherine.’

  They turned to each other, laughing like children, their bodies swaying back and forth.

  ‘How splendid of you to be able to quote so pat, Kate! I played Petruchio when I was at college. Oh, that was good! But, Kate,’ his voice lost some of its merriment, ‘what are you going to do with all this learning? Stay on at the Tolmaches?’ He didn’t add, as a maid, which was in his mind.

  The laughter died out of Kate’s face. She looked soberly ahead again. ‘That seems to be the trouble. You see, I’m not in the least ambitious. I’m quite content to go on as a I am, cooking, and cleaning and learning. Mr Bernard wants me to take a course in teaching, but I don’t want to be a teacher; I want…’ But she couldn’t put into words what she wanted. Even as thoughts they were kept firmly in the background of her mind. Impossible to say to him, ‘I want a home of my own, as near the Tolmaches as possible, and to see Annie grow there…and…’ the deep, deep thought…someone to love and be loved by, someone who would think on the level of the three people she adored, yet would be young, and warm and ardent, demanding of her all she had to give, freeing that burning that made her body restless…the feeling that could only be brought about by marriage; there could be no more Annies. No, no! That fear kept the thoughts in check and quietened the urgent demands of her body…

  ‘What do you want, Kate?’ Rodney asked quietly.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I only know I can’t bear the thought of leaving them. They are all set on this teaching business because they think it is for my good, but in their hearts they don’t really want me to go. You see, Doctor’ - she turned towards him again - ‘if I left there now, I’d never go back. From a training college I’d naturally go on to a school. One, two, three years…and any one of them might die at any minute. This seems to be my daily bread, their dying…And Mr Bernard, what would he do if he hadn’t me to teach? He’d still have his books; but he’s taught all his life, and finding someone as ignorant as I was, and eager, and right to hand, was like new life to him.’

  ‘I couldn’t imagine you ever being ignorant, Kate.’

  ‘Oh, I was. I am still.’

  ‘I won’t argue that point,’ said Rodney.

  ‘I have so much to learn,’ said Kate, ‘and time goes so quickly. Every week now a discussion takes place on what I must do. I tell them that I have no other ambition but to work for them. And they talk at a great rate and say how silly I am; and Miss Henrietta says I have the slave complex and that she must write to Mrs Pankhurst about me. Yet I know in their hearts they are glad…and, oh, how happy that makes me! You can’t imagine how it feels to be liked by them; I seem to belong to them, I sing all day!’ she ended, on a joyous note.

  ‘Kate,’ said Rodney, bending towards her, his knees pressing against the rug covering her, ‘where did you get all your wisdom from?’ He brought his face close to hers, in the dim light. ‘You know so much not culled from books. It’s in your eyes, a great kindliness enveloping all you look upon. You would have that wisdom without learning; no wonder they don’t want to lose you.’

  She made a little inarticulate sound.

  ‘That’s why I’ve always felt drawn to you. We must talk often, Kate; you make me feel the world is a good place to live in.’

  She gave a start as though something had leapt within her; her eyes grew larger for a second as she gazed back in the black pools before her. In the silence of the hushed night they heard their own laboured breathing…She spoke suddenly, with a startling crispness, and he was aware of the rebuke in her voice: ‘I have no wisdom, Doctor; I want to stay there from gratitude to them. They took me in, knowing I had just had an illegitimate child.’ She paused, as if to make him recall this fact. ‘They treated me with kindness and courtesy from the very first moment I entered their house. If I work for them until I die I’ll still be in their debt.’

  ‘You’re purposely misunderstanding me, Kate. Don’t be alarmed or afraid of me.’ He felt for her hands and gripped them, stopping their withdrawal.

  ‘I’m not, Doctor.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  She was silent.

  ‘We could be friends, Kate.’ The dark appeal of his eyes made her catch her breath.

  ‘Doctor, that’s impossible, and you know it is. I should never have come with you tonight.’ She moved her head restlessly.

  He gazed at her averted head, and found himself on the brink of a chasm, so full of warmth and loveliness that the desolation of his life appeared blacker than ever before…He would persuade her…But what of Stella?…Well, what of her? He didn’t owe her anything. If he were drawn into the ecstasy of beauty that was Kate, what would it mean? Hole in corner? The term struck him like a cold douche; the fastidious part of him reared its head…No, he had always been against affairs of that sort; hole-in-corner affairs which had aroused his disgust in others, even while sympathising with them. He drew away and settled in his seat again. He was shaking slightly, and his voice betrayed it: ‘You’re right, Kate; and I’m sorry. But don’t let us spoil this hour, it has been so good up till now. Tell me more of yourself; or Annie. Have you any plans for her?’ He fumbled at relighting his pipe.

  She didn’t answer. And when he cast a quick glance at her, she said dully, ‘I’d like her to go to a good school.’

  ‘Are you going to send her to a convent?’

  ‘No. You see…’ she hesitated; then went on, ‘I’m even afraid to put my thoughts into words. I never have done yet…but…well, I want to take her away from the Catholic school.’

  ‘Really, Kate!’ Rodney stopped ramming his pipe in surprise. ‘Why?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand as you’re not a Catholic. It’s religion, religion all the time. Learning takes a second place, especially in the elementary schools. And then there’s the fear…’

  ‘Fear, Kate?’ He seemed to have forgotten the personal issue of a few minutes ago, and was the professional man once again. ‘You think that the religion frightens the children, then?’

  ‘Well, not exactly the religion; because if all the priests were like Father White and Father Bailey and all the teachers were like Miss Cail and Miss Holden you couldn’t imagine being frightened. But it’s the priests like Father O’Malley and teachers like the headmistress of the Borough Road school who instil fear into you; and I don’t want Annie to be afraid as I was.’

  ‘Go on, Kate; tell me how it affected you. I’m very interested, as I’ve had a few cases of children being afraid of Hell this past month.’

  Kate seemed relieved, and began to talk as if recently the beating of her heart had not threatened to suffocate her: ‘That w
as my main fear, too. After my first confession, at the age of seven, I had the idea that hosts of people in Heaven were watching my every move and would report to God on all my misdeeds, and so I would be sent to Hell. I used to placate them, one after the other - the Virgin Mary, Joseph, St Anthony, St Catherine, St Agnes - and instead of getting relief by going to confession Father O’Malley made it worse, a thousand times worse. After being told I’d end up “in Hell’s flames, burning”, I had a nightmare. I dreamed that I was thrown into Hell, falling through layer after layer of terrible blackness, with things in it, not seen but felt, until I reached a red, gaping void. For years that dream recurred, and sometimes, even now, it comes back.’

  ‘Are you still afraid?’ asked Rodney.

  ‘No, not really; although at times I am haunted by vague fears for which I have no explanation. Do you know, I have never prayed to God in my life until recently. The Tolmaches, who practise no religion, have really brought me nearer to a knowledge of God than I have ever been before.’

  ‘Not prayed to God!’ exclaimed Rodney. ‘To whom did you pray, then?’

  ‘The Holy Family, the saints, the martyrs.’

  ‘But what about Jesus, Kate?’

  ‘Jesus?…Well, Jesus was more frightening than the rest, for he was dead, dead and awful, so dead that no resurrection could ever bring him to life again. Every Sunday, in church, I sat opposite to him, a life-size Jesus, just taken down from the cross, his limp body trailing to the ground from his mother’s arms, his blood realistically red and dripping from his wounds. He was naked but for a loincloth, and all his body had that sickly pallor of death. He was quite dead, and Easter Sunday could do nothing to bring him to life again.’

  ‘Good heavens, Kate,’ exclaimed Rodney, ‘do you think the statues make the same impression on most children?’

  ‘No,’ said Kate. ‘Some don’t seem to mind. But I know I did, and I don’t want Annie to suffer in the same way. So that’s why I want to take her away from the school and the Borough Road church. But I’ll send her to a Catholic church, for they don’t all have such gruesome statues as in the Borough Road church. But whatever I do it’s going to be difficult, because as long as she’s at home there’s my da—father to contend with.’