She had opened the gates, and he was now holding out his hand to her; and when she placed hers in it he held it tightly, saying, ‘When we next meet you will have come of age, at least a certain age. Goodbye, my dear.’ The last words were soft and deep with feeling. But she didn’t reply to them, she just stood and watched him walking away, a gentleman in a fine grey suit, high hat and carrying a silver-mounted walking stick. And he had said he was coming back when she became of age.
Not until he was out of sight did she leave the gate. Then she almost marched across the yard and into the kitchen, where she found that Mrs Aggie, too, was present. But as if Mrs Aggie weren’t there, she went straight for Ben, crying, ‘If it wasn’t that we live almost in the same house, I would never speak to you again. Your behaviour was simply dreadful, atrocious! Spouting your theories. He knows more about them than you do, and he can do more for the people than you can ever do.’
‘Finished?’
‘Yes. But I could go on.’
‘Well, why don’t you? I’m all ears. But I’m not finished, because I’ll tell you this much: he’s no good, none of his type are. In their own class, yes, but not when they come from yon side of the track to this side and smile at a young lass, and talk fancy to her, and fill her head with ideas, and her knowing nothing about life’—his voice was rising—‘but what she’s learned in this muck-hole. Because that’s how he saw it, isn’t it? A muck-hole.’
As Aggie went to say something, he rounded on her, crying, ‘Shut up! I’m goin’ to have me say and I can start with you.’ He stabbed his finger at her. ‘You’ve got big ideas for her, haven’t you? You think that bloke’s on the square. You think he’s goin’ to come and say: “Mrs Winkowski”’—his voice had altered now—‘“May I ask you for the hand of your ward…in marriage, that is, Mrs Winkowski, and not just leading her up the path with ideas of takin’ her behind the bushes?” Oh no.’
Aggie’s voice was almost a scream now as she, too, yelled, ‘Ben Smith, shut your mouth! And get yourself outside before I level something at you. You’ll be sorry for this night. Yes, you will. Oh, yes, you will.’
Ben put up his hand and pulled his bootlace tie tight under his collar. Then it appeared as if he had now to force himself to speak, for his jaws clamped two or three times before he brought out, ‘Aye, I might be; but there’s two people that’ll be sorrier. That’s a prophecy, and you’ll live to see it.’ And on that, he did not hurry or march from the room but turned slowly about and as slowly walked out, closing the door behind him.
Blindly now, Millie stumbled towards Aggie and threw herself into her arms; and as she sobbed, Aggie stroked her hair, saying, ‘There now. There now. What does he know about it? He’s an ignorant pig, that’s all, an ignorant pig.’ Then after a moment she gently pressed Millie from her and, looking into her streaming face, she said, ‘Did he say anything to you…well, you know?’
Millie shook her head, and then stammered, ‘He’s…he’s not like that. I mean, Ben’s impression, it’s all wrong. Mr Thompson’s a gentleman, kind and…’
‘D’you like him? I mean, a bit more than like him?’
Millie bowed her head before she muttered, ‘Yes. Yes, I do, Mrs Aggie. I…I more than like him.’
‘Well, me dear, if that’s the case, we’ll take it from there an’ see what happens. But look, you haven’t got to hold it against him; I mean, Ben, ’cos he can’t help it. He’s jealous.’
Millie was drying her eyes on the end of her white apron, and when she stopped, her face screwed up and she said, ‘Jealous? Ben, jealous?’
‘Aye, lass. He’s a man. His legs might be short but he’s all man. You take it from me.’
‘But…but well, he’s practically brought me up and…and been like a brother.’
Aggie gave a short laugh as she said, ‘Get it into your head, lass, that no man will ever look on himself as a brother to you. The mirror in our bedroom is cracked; I think I’d better look out for a bit of decent glass so you can see yourself.’
‘Oh, Mrs Aggie. Life is not easy, is it?’
‘No, lass; life’s not easy. And you’ve been very lucky so far, you know, because you’re late in learnin’ that. With the majority, especially around here, it comes soon after they can crawl.’ And this elicited no further remark or question from Millie; instead she walked slowly to the couch and sat down, the while thinking, She’s saying the same thing as Ben said, only she’s not bawling it. She had said Ben was jealous. How silly! How silly! Ben jealous of another man? Then he must think…She almost sprang up from the couch, saying, ‘I’m going to change my frock,’ and went hastily from the room. And Aggie, taking the gin bottle from the shelf, poured herself out a generous measure and sat down to the side of the fire, looked down into the mug and sipped at the liquor, then said to herself, ‘Aye, change your frock, my beautiful dear. Change your frock.’
Three
The hostility between Ben and Millie came to an abrupt end three days later, and the bond that had existed between them before became stronger. It was brought about by the arrival of a stranger.
Being a Tuesday, the inhabitants of The Courts were short of money for all commodities, so there were only half a dozen people standing on the far side of the long table. And two of these were small children, each pushing a thin plate across the table for a ha’porth of peas. And after Millie had put a generous ladleful on each plate, the dirty and ragged mites did not immediately pick them up and run, but stared at her, until she smiled and, moving along the table, took up a square of pastry and, breaking it in half, dropped the two pieces beside the peas, whereupon the urchins grinned at her, grabbed up their meal, but without a ‘ta’, and ran off.
The next customer was a woman who said, ‘Lucky, those ’uns. It’s a scandal. She’s got five workin’, but the most of it goes in the gin shop, an’ two of them with her, an’ they just ten. I ask you.’
‘What can I serve you with, Mrs Bright?’
‘Four pies, lass.’
‘The fourpennies?’
‘Oh, no. No; not on a Tuesday’—the woman laughed—‘he’s lucky to get the tuppennies. An’ I’ll have a scoop of the broth. It sticks to your ribs, that does. I can say this, I’ve never tasted better, specially when you find a nice lump of fat mutton in it.’
Millie took the hint and saw that there was a piece of mutton in the ladleful of stew she poured into the woman’s basin. But as the woman moved away and made room for the next customer, Millie became aware of the man standing across the narrow roadway. She had never seen him before, and she knew a great many inhabitants now by sight, because it was a close quarter and very few strangers made their way here, at least to pass the gates and towards the main Courts, unless they were unfortunate enough to have just come to live there.
Yet there could be a man, or many men, who lived in The Courts whom she hadn’t seen. This man, however, appeared different: he was dressed differently from any of those round about. He was wearing a black suit and a white collar; at least, it looked a lighter shirt from this distance, and he had a high hat on his head.
By the time she had served another four customers there was no-one in sight but the man; and now he was approaching the table.
As he came closer, she saw that he was tall, almost six foot, and he was very thin and his suit appeared baggy.
When he reached the other side of the table he stared fixedly at her and when he spoke his voice, too, was strange: it did not hold the rough and loud hoarseness that she was used to among the working class. Yet it wasn’t the voice of a gentleman of whatever station.
‘Millicent Forester. That’s your name, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s my name.’
‘Well, my name’s Forester an’ all. Reginald Forester. I’m your father.’
The ladle slipped from her hand on to the wooden table. Then she took two steps backwards, saying, ‘No; my…my father’s dead.’
‘Well, she would tell you that, woul
dn’t she? But…but I’m your father all right. I didn’t expect to find you so soon: the parson’s wife said she had last heard of you here; but then you could have been anywhere by now. I recognised you as soon as I saw you, you’re the spitting image of your mother.’
Again she said, ‘No, no,’ because instinctively she didn’t want this man to be her father. She didn’t like his face. There was a thin scar running down one side of it. The top of it was lost in the shadow of the hat brim, although she could see where it ended at his chin. She turned swiftly and ran across the yard, and as she did so Ben came out of the barn.
Seeing him, she turned and rushed towards him and, clinging to his arms, she whimpered, ‘There’s…there’s a man at the gate, Ben. He…he says, he’s…he’s my father. He…’
‘What?’ He looked across the yard to the figure standing beyond the table, then said, ‘He what?’
‘He…he said he is my father. I…I thought he was dead. Will you come and see?’
‘Stay where you are.’ Ben now walked slowly towards the gates and the man who was standing there, and demanded, ‘What’s your game?’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’ll tell you when I know who you are. You say you’re her father. Well, to her knowledge an’ my knowledge, he’s dead.’
The man placed his two hands on the edge of the table as if for support, and his head drooped as he said, ‘That’s what she would want her to know, her mother. I’ve been away for a time.’
It was some moments before Ben said, ‘Aye, and I can guess where you’ve been an’ all.’
The head came up sharply. The voice, too, was sharp: ‘Well, if you can, then you’ll know why I haven’t come for her sooner,’ he said.
‘Come for her? You’ve got no claim on her. She’s Aggie’s, I mean Mrs Winkowski’s.’
Ben turned his head as he heard Aggie’s voice in the yard, and he called, ‘Come here a minute, will you?’
When Aggie shambled up to them, Ben said, ‘Here’s a do that’ll have to be tackled. This fella says he’s her father and he’s come for her. What d’you make of that?’
Aggie stared at the man, and she seemed to see somewhere in the thin face a resemblance, and it was as if she had been waiting for this moment for years. She said quietly, ‘Let him in.’ Then she turned away and, hurrying as fast as she could towards the house, she caught hold of Millie who was standing under the porch, her eyes seeming to be staring out of her head, and she said, ‘Come away in. Don’t worry; we’ll get this sorted out.’
‘But he said, Mrs Aggie, he…he said…’
‘Yes, and likely he is. Yes, likely he is your father, so calm yourself down.’
A minute later, the man was standing in the kitchen looking about him in as much amazement as Bernard Thompson had done, and when Aggie turned to him and said, ‘Well, get off your legs,’ he sat on the settle. Then, looking towards Millie, who was standing to the side of the window as if to keep her distance between them, he said, ‘I…I knew it would come as a bit of a shock but…it isn’t my fault that the truth’s been kept from you for years. It was hers: she should have put you in the picture from the beginning. I heard yesterday that she did herself in. Well, I’m not surprised…nervy.’ He was nodding at Aggie now. ‘Her mother was always nervy. She’d had it too soft, you know. Well’—he laughed now—‘we both had it too soft at one time.’ He passed his lips one over the other, before saying, ‘D’you think I could ask you for a drink of something?’
‘Is it in the way of tea or beer you would like?’
‘Oh, beer, please. Oh yes, a beer.’
Aggie nodded towards Ben, and he went to the cupboard and brought out a bottle of beer and a mug and placed them none too gently on the settle by the side of the man, who looked up at this odd-shaped fellow and said, ‘Ta. Thanks.’
They watched him fill up the mug with beer, which he then swallowed, almost it seemed in one draught, then take out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipe his mouth. It was an odd gesture from someone of his appearance; it would have been more natural had he wiped his mouth with the side of his hand.
He now placed the mug and the empty bottle on the hearth and, looking towards Millie, he said, ‘Come here. I’m not goin’ to eat you. I think it’s about time we got to know each other, don’t you?’
Millie made no move to comply; and what she said now altered the man’s expression, for she spoke sharply: ‘I don’t know. I’ve always understood you were dead; so why has it taken you so long to claim the relationship? That’s what I’d like to know.’
‘Oh well, you see, that’s got to be explained. I was away.’
‘He was in gaol,’ Aggie said flatly.
The man half rose from the settle; then sank back, saying, ‘Yes. Yes, I was in gaol; but it wasn’t my fault. It was self-defence. I was nearly killed. Look at this! I’ve got the mark of it.’ He was pointing to the scar on his face. ‘It was to save her, your mother. I could have swung for it, only they brought it in as self-defence.’
‘The man died then?’
He turned to Aggie, saying, ‘Aye. Aye, he died some time after…well, a week or so; and I nearly did an’ all. But still, they gave me twelve years. My God!’ They watched him grind his teeth now and droop his head and look to the side, and his eyes moved over the floor as if he were watching something crawling. Then, his head snapping up, he said, ‘They cut me time a bit for good behaviour, and I couldn’t wait to get out to see you.’ He nodded towards Millie. ‘But it’s not much of a welcome I’m gettin’, is it?’
‘What d’you expect?’ Aggie was standing in front of him.
‘Well…well I could say that at least she could give me a civil word and let me explain to her how all this happened. Let me tell you, missis, I wasn’t always like this.’ He drew his hand down from his shoulder to his knee. ‘I was in a good position once, and she was brought up well until the trouble. But anyway, as we’re talkin’ plainly, because there already seems to have been a lot of plain speaking—’ he glanced now at Ben, then went on, ‘I’ve got a claim on her: she’s mine and…’
‘My God, mister!’ Aggie interrupted him, ‘You’ve got to get your ideas straightened out, and I’d better do it right away for you. You’ve got no claim on her. I signed a paper years ago. She’s what you’d call my ward, and it was done by a legal man, and a friend, who is now a police sergeant, was a witness.’
‘Oh my God!’ The man was on his feet now. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve stepped from one gaol to another. Bloody police!’ He was shaking his head in frustration. ‘What d’you think it’s like to see nothin’ but bloody warders an’ jump to their bloody orders. Look—’ He now gripped at his throat, as if to help himself to breathe; then presently, he turned to Millie and in a somewhat calmer tone said, ‘All I want, lass, is to…well, to talk with you. We can get into who claims who after. After all, you are my daughter. I…I brought you up until you were five years old. I worked for you to give you the best.’ Quite suddenly now he dropped down back onto the settle, and his hand again going to his throat, he pulled on his breath, which brought Aggie to her feet and saying to him, ‘Are you all right? Are you ailin’ something?’
‘It’s nothing, just a bit of a chest cold.’ His arms were now limp by his side, his head drooping; and after surveying him for a moment, Aggie turned towards Millie, beckoning her towards her.
Slowly Millie went forward; but when again Aggie signalled her to sit beside the man, she shook her head; instead, she stood to the side of him, and she looked into his face as she said, ‘I’m…I’m sorry, but…but it’s all a great shock, and I have to have time to get used to it. You understand?’
This brought a smile to the man, and he said, ‘Yes. Yes, I understand. Perhaps I should have broken it in some other way, but I couldn’t see how to do it. And you know, prison doesn’t encourage you to develop the niceties of life.’
The words were those that Bernard himself would have spoken, only the ton
e was different, which made her tell herself that he must have been a nice man once and, in a way, educated; it was prison that had coarsened him. But…but if he only looked different. It was his face that repulsed her, and something about his manner.
‘It’ll work out. We…we’ll get to know each other; and not afore time. But of course that’s my opinion. I…I must look for work.’
‘What was your work?’
He turned towards Ben; then he sighed before he said, ‘…I was a butler in a large household. It was a position of prestige. My wife was lady’s maid, and we married. But we left there. Later I was manager in an—’ He drew in his breath before he said, ‘an emporium. It…it was there the trouble started. You see, my wife was as beautiful as her daughter, so perhaps you can understand me wanting to protect her.’
For a moment, Millie’s feelings against him were overcome by a wave of pity. Of a sudden she wanted to take his hand and say, It’s going to be all right. Mrs Aggie will let you live here, and I’ll look after you. But her thoughts were checked by his addressing Aggie now, saying, ‘Can you put me up for a few nights until I get settled?’
‘No. No, I’m sorry I can’t do that. We’re stuck for room.’
Millie’s mouth fell open: there were two other bedrooms upstairs. Mrs Aggie definitely didn’t want him to stay. But then she knew that she herself was relieved. She watched the man stare at Aggie, then at Ben, before pulling himself to his feet and saying, ‘Well, if that’s the case, I’ll have to look about, won’t I, for some place to lay my head?’
The Rag Nymph (aka The Forester Girl) Page 19