The Rag Nymph (aka The Forester Girl)

by Catherine Cookson

  As if the child were sensing her dilemma, she said, ‘I am going to see Mama today, am I not, Mrs Aggie?’

  For once the preciseness of the words did not irritate Aggie, and she answered gently, ‘I’m sorry, love, but…but she’s had to go away for a day or two.’

  ‘Where to?’

  Aggie was stumped for a moment, but then she thought of Durham, and so she answered, ‘Durham.’

  ‘But…but she can’t. She said she would never go back there.’

  Aggie pulled herself up from the seat, saying, tersely now, ‘Well, love, she has.’

  ‘But…but why didn’t she come and take me with her? She never leaves me.’

  ‘Well’—Aggie was walking towards the table, her back to the child—‘she…she was in a hurry. Something had come up.’ She now rubbed her hand over the oilcloth as she waited for the next question. But when it did not come, she turned about and saw the child with her head bowed and the tears running down her cheeks. Returning to the settle, she seated herself again by the child and said kindly, ‘Come on now, come on. You’re quite a big girl. Grown-ups have things to do, you know, an’ they can’t always explain them…well—’ She put her arm around the narrow shoulders and pulled the child into her side, and when again the arm came around her waist and the head was pressed between her breasts there arose in her that pain that was both an ache and a pleasure: a pleasure that had no future that she could see; a pleasure that she had been deprived of all during her womanhood. And now here was a pleasure that was also an irritant. It was a pleasure that she wanted to press into her body while at the same time throw it off as far away from her as possible.

  The sound of the door being opened made her instinctively push the child aside from her. Ben, however, did not remark on the scene he had just witnessed, but said, ‘There’s a friend of yours in the yard who would like to have a word with you. He dropped in off his beat, sort of.’

  ‘Oh aye.’ She nodded at him; then as she passed him she said quietly. ‘Stay with her, but keep your mouth shut, else you might contradict my story.’

  In the yard Constable Fenwick was looking at the pile of tins; and, as she approached him, she said, ‘Goin’ cheap: a penny a score.’

  ‘What on earth d’you use them for? Who buys them?’ he asked, as though he couldn’t believe anyone would do so.

  ‘Oh, there’s always a buyer for everything. They grind them down. But I use a lot meself. Best form of fuel and the cheapest: fill them with a mixture of coal dust and mud and you’ve got a fire goin’ all day and night. The tins hold the heat.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘That’s a fact.’

  ‘I’ve been away for a day or two; I lost me father.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her light tone changed. ‘I’m sorry about that. Was he dear to you?’

  ‘Aye, very dear, and a good man.’

  ‘Did he live hereabouts?’

  ‘No, in Newcastle.’

  ‘Oh; Newcastle.’

  ‘Aye, that’s where I was born and reared. I would have been there the day but I had to go and marry a lass from down here, and she wouldn’t leave her mother. Women are the limit, aren’t they, Aggie?’

  She did not respond to this but stared at him, until he spoke again, saying, ‘I’d have been along before now, but I heard about me father the very day when we last spoke, and so I had to go off straight away to Newcastle. Before I went, though, I managed to have a word on the side with the lass. She was waiting to be moved to start her month. She begged me to take this.’ He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a key. ‘She asked me to give it to the lady who had been in court with her child, and to ask if you would take care of her till she could come for her.’ As he handed her the key, he added, ‘Apparently she wants you to take the personal things from her lodgings.’

  Aggie stood holding the key in her hand. It was all of three inches long, and as she looked at it, she said, ‘I shouldn’t be landed with this. What life will it be for a child stuck in here?’

  ‘There’s many a worse place, Aggie, and many a worse person to take charge of a child. I can vouch for that. Anyway, if it becomes known the lass left a child behind, the authorities will be visitin’ you, and then you’ll be able to get rid of her.’

  ‘Huh!’ She bridled now. ‘What if it should then happen I don’t want to get rid of her, eh? What about it then?’…Why in the name of God had she said that?

  ‘Oh, well, that could be easily arranged. You’d have to sign some sort of form. And if they ever want a reference, I’ll stand for that. And there are others an’ all, I’m sure.’

  ‘Where?’ Her voice was scornful now. ‘A rag woman in a hole like this! “What!” they would say. “Taking charge of a child, and such a one?” Aye, and such a one’—she was shaking her head—‘who’d talk a hind leg off a donkey, and with such politeness that it gets up your nose and under your skin and on your nerves.’

  He was laughing now.

  ‘Well, perhaps you’ll learn something from her.’

  ‘I’ve had all the education I need, thanks. But anyway’—her tone changed again—‘I’m grateful to you for your help.’

  ‘Any time, Aggie, any time.’ He again looked at the pile of tins. ‘I’ll have to tell me missis about that trick, and tell her to get going and save some money…Ooh! I’d better not, though, not if I want to live a little longer. Well, I’ll look in again, Aggie; and mind you, see everything’s above board’—he glanced around the yard—‘no dealing in stolen property; no organising of crime in any one of its many forms. But I think you’ll stay clear until Thursday.’ He grinned at her, then went from the yard. And she stood looking down at the key in her hand, while she said to herself, ‘Well, this seems to decide it, doesn’t it?’ and turning, she yelled, ‘Ben!’ And when he appeared in the yard, followed by the child, it was to her she spoke, saying, ‘Go and put your hat and coat on; we’re goin’ for a walk.’

  ‘A walk?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said, we’re goin’ for a walk.’ Then with an impatient movement, she said loudly, ‘Your ma has sent the key to your house. We’re goin’ there to pick up some of your clothes.’

  ‘Oh, we are? Oh, that is so nice. And I need a clean petticoat on and…’

  ’Go on! Get your hat and coat on.’

  After Millie had turned to run back into the house, Ben said, ‘So that’s what he wanted. How did he get hold of it?’

  ‘Apparently he had a word with her while she was waiting to be taken along the line. It must have been just before Boswell picked her up. Get the handcart out of the barn; there’ll likely be things to bring back.’

  Without more to-do he hurried from her, and she herself went into the market room.

  From a cupboard, she took a large, brown, straw hat and a dark grey coat; and after first pinning the hat on to her hair she shrugged herself into the coat. But it wasn’t large enough to button and showed her blouse and skirt, and so when she appeared in the yard again Ben, standing ready by the cart, grinned at her, saying, ‘That’s nice! Smartish.’

  ‘Aye, smart…ish. Where is she?’ She turned and looked towards the house door. ‘Don’t tell me she’s washing her face again!’

  ‘Here she is.’ Ben waved to the child, and when she approached them she exclaimed loudly while looking at Aggie, ‘Oh, you are dressed! You look different. That is a nice hat.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you.’

  That was another thing that annoyed her about the child: she always had to find something nice to say.

  ‘Well, come on, let’s get away,’ she said.

  ‘Have a nice trip.’

  Aggie turned a scornful glance on Ben, then pushed the cart through the gateway on to the road.

  ‘Are you a real rag woman, Mrs Aggie?’

  Here we go again. ‘Yes, I’m a real rag woman. Now what are you goin’ to make out of that?’

  ‘Nothing. Mama says that honest work, no matter how lowly, is
something to be proud of.’

  God in heaven! That mama, that proven whore who was now in a brothel and was likely to stay there, that’s if Slim didn’t ship her out an’ all, because she was a looker all right.

  ‘Are you going to shout for rags?’

  ‘No, I’m not. And keep your tongue quiet.’

  Millie kept her tongue quiet for some time, until she felt forced to say, ‘I would have never known this way home.’

  Aggie made no reply to this, and the child remained quiet until it was evident that she recognised the entrance to the area, for she exclaimed, ‘Oh! Now I know where we are.’

  ‘Whereabouts is your house then?’

  ‘It wasn’t a house, I think I’ve told you, it was outside. We go round the corner here.’

  They went round the corner, and the child stopped in front of a flight of steps leading up to a dilapidated house, one of a number in the street. But to the right of the steps was a low iron gate, and leading from it more steps, but downwards; and the child exclaimed, ‘Down there! Down here!’

  Aggie looked up and down the narrow street; then, taking a chain with a lock attached to it from under a piece of sacking in the corner of the cart, she pushed the cart close to the gate, and tied a leg of it to the iron post.

  ‘Why are you doing that?’

  ‘Just in case somebody takes a fancy to it.’

  ‘No-one would run off with a handcart.’

  ‘Well, they’ve done it before.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, rea-lly! Get yourself down those steps, and see if I can follow you.’

  The stone steps were narrow, and she didn’t like stone steps, they were greasy when wet, but she made the bottom of them and inserted the key in the lock. She followed the child into the room, but there she stood aghast. It was a cellar, stone-floored and stone-walled, and stone cold. It was obviously partitioned into two rooms by a rough wooden screen. In the part in which she was standing was a small table and two chairs and an iron contraption that looked as if it might be used for some form of heating. There was no chimney attached to it; so she guessed it was for paraffin oil.

  She walked round the end of the partition. In this part, there was a narrow iron bed, covered by a patched quilt, and at its foot was a large suitcase. Near the wall was a bass hamper. Clothes, mostly small garments, were hanging from the rails that had been knocked in the partition.

  The child had followed her, and as she started to finger the clothes, she said, ‘It…it isn’t a very nice place. It’s always cold. But…but, as Mama said, as long as we kept it clean and it was only for a short time…But—’ She turned and looked at Aggie as she ended slowly, ‘But it wasn’t like the house we had in Durham. That…that was so nice. I…I miss that house. I miss Durham. I…I…’

  ‘Now, now! There’s no time for cryin’. Come on, come on. Stop that! I’ll take these clothes down and you fold them on the bed there, nicely, then we’ll put them on the cart. And the cases an’ all.’

  ‘Why? Why? Mama will be coming back.’

  ‘Look! Do what you’re told! Your mama sent word for me to do this. You understand? I told you. And you’re to stay with me…well, until she comes for you or other arrangements are made.’

  ‘Where is Mama really?’

  ‘I told you, she had to go to Durham.’

  ‘I…I don’t believe you, Mrs Aggie.’

  To put it in her own words, as she explained the scene later to Ben, she was flabbergasted. And she had to ask herself if this young ’un was seven or seventeen.

  ‘You don’t, eh? You don’t believe me? Well then, all right, you can stay here by yourself, and see to yourself, until your mother comes for you.’

  ‘I…I cannot stay by…by…my…self. I’m…I’m afraid, and…and I’m too little.’

  ‘You’re only little in stature, not in your tongue or your mind. So look, let’s have no more of it. If you don’t fold them up I’ll just toss them on the cart like I do the rags. It’s up to you.’ She now stripped the partition of the clothes, threw them on the bed, and then went and lifted the lid off the case, only to find that it, too, was full of clothes, both the woman’s and the child’s. She groped under the clothes, thinking there might be anything else, probably a small box of some kind, and recognised the feel of leather.

  When she took out the leather writing case, the child turned and cried, ‘That’s Mama’s! She keeps her letters in there.’

  ‘Oh aye!’ Aggie retorted, while thinking, that should be interesting. And then she said, ‘Look, there’s no way I can get this case and that bass hamper up them steps, full as they are, I’ll have to tie the stuff in bundles an’ put them on the cart. I’ll hand them up to you from the bottom of the steps, and you stay by the cart.’

  During the next half-hour they worked in this way, and when the empty cases and the bedcovers were at last placed on the cart, Aggie locked the door, then hesitated for a moment, wondering what to do with the key. Her rent would have certainly been paid in advance and the rent man, whoever he was, would likely be the only one who would come down here, except of course the child’s uncles, and they must have been hard put to it to resort to this hole. Aye, but, of course, there was the bed, and the woman. But what did this child do while it was going on? Likely what hundreds of others had to do: wonder, and think, and stick their fingers in their ears; some, on the other hand, might even ask themselves how long it would be before they could try it. But this child was so different, and so bonny. Oh, for God’s sake! Get on with it, woman. With a final gesture she put the key on the sill of the narrow window and pulled herself up the stone steps.

  After unlocking the cart from the gatepost, they were off, the child now walking between Aggie’s outstretched arms and adding her small strength to the pushing.

  ‘What d’you make of it all?’ Aggie looked at Ben, who shook his head, saying, ‘Beats me. Those are all good clothes. Best quality; some of the woman’s bits are real high-class stuff, I would say.’

  ‘So would I. But about these letters. They tell you something, and yet they tell you nothing. This Mrs Melburn, the parson’s wife…she seems a motherly figure, in a way, but that bit’—he pointed to the page of a letter that was on the table—‘that bit tells you why they came this way.’ She picked up the page and read aloud:

  ‘I’m sorry at the disappointment you found that your friend had left the town without leaving a forwarding address. I can understand how upset you were after expecting to make your home with her. Human nature is very odd. Perhaps it was her husband’s doing.’

  Aggie lifted her head and looked at Ben, saying, ‘Reading between the lines, the husband of this friend, whoever she was, wasn’t going to allow his wife to get mixed up in something. What d’you think?’

  ‘It reads like that.’

  ‘Then this other one.’ She picked up another letter, and again read aloud:

  ‘I think of you often and of the happy times we had at the Hall, and they were happy times. We never thought then that there was such a thing as tragedy in life and such falseness.

  ‘Then this last one. Just a few lines on this page:

  ‘I am distressed for you, my dear. You must come back. Don’t do anything silly or anything you would be ashamed of. It isn’t like you. Do come back. People forget. They have short memories. John is with me in this.

  My love to you in friendship. Yours, Jessie.’

  ‘Again I ask, what d’you make of that? I think it must be as I said: either she’d done something or her man had done something. That’s as far as I can think. Except that it’s more likely the man, because, you know, the child talked about him dying, but in a funny way, as if dying was another name for something else. Well, I don’t suppose we’ll ever know the real ins and outs of it. But I’ve got a good idea about one thing: that little miss upstairs knows more than she lets on. That look that comes over her face when you start probing. Like this afternoon, when I said to her, “There’s n
o letters from your father in here. Didn’t he ever write to your mother at some time or other?” and she said, “I…I don’t know.” But there’s something she does know and she’s keepin’ it to herself. She had another cryin’ bout, too, when I took her upstairs.’

  ‘If the authorities find out that her mother’s walking the sidelines,’ Ben said, ‘there’ll be no chance she’ll get her back. Would you then sign a paper for her?’

  Aggie gathered up the letters from the table, returned them to the writing case, then rose heavily, saying, ‘Time enough to think about that. See what happens in the meantime. But I think I’ll write to that parson’s wife and see what she has to say about it.’

  The meantime came to an end three days later.

  The weather had changed. It had been pouring with rain all day, and half the yard was a quagmire. The lanes, courts, streets and roads were the same.

  It was Aggie’s day to visit the outskirts, but as she looked out of the window on to the patch of grass that was welcoming the steady downpour, she said, half to herself, ‘It’s a good job I’m not forced to go out,’ and a voice in her mind added, ‘You need never go again if you don’t want to.’ And she answered it: ‘Then what would I do with meself? Sit and listen to Madam Correctness for the rest of me days? Oh no!’

  She turned and looked towards the child, who was sitting hugging a doll. It had a china head, a stuffed cloth body, and wooden legs. But the legs were cleverly jointed at the knees and the ankles, and the whole was prettily dressed. They had found the doll in the bass hamper where, Millie had informed her, it slept when they were out of the house. She had been foolish enough to ask if it had a name. And when told it was Victoria after the Queen and that the Queen was a wonderful lady, and her Prince was wonderful, too, she’d had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from saying, ‘Aye, she’s a wonderful lady all right, she’s still for bairns your size working twelve hours a day. And she with a squad of her own. Don’t talk to me about the wonderful Victoria.’