Why, Katie wondered, was one never allowed to be happy? She had married a wonderful man, she had a beautiful home—no, a magnificent home—yet God had made it His business to deform her son both mentally and physically. Why? Why?
The streets of Manchester were swarming with children, the majority of them underfed, barefoot and lice-ridden, but they were normal, in most part they were normal.
Yet, she asked herself as the carriage turned into the drive of the Manor, would any of them be as lovable as the child waiting patiently for her there in the house? No, for whatever was lacking in Lawrence it wasn’t the capacity to love. His whole aim seemed to be bent on loving, and showing it.
If only her father had accepted her child’s love. But her father, like her mother, was gone; the family was broken. There still remained John and Dan, but she saw little of either of them and less of their wives. Jenny lived in an entirely different world; as for Barbara—well, Barbara was a strange creature. She wouldn’t mind if she never met Barbara again. Although they had at one time, when girls, been close they had now nothing in common, no, nothing, for Barbara had three healthy sons.
Life was unfair, cruel and unfair…
Five minutes later she was holding her son in her arms and he was hugging her tightly around the neck while his shapeless mouth spread kisses over her face. And when he stopped and lisped, ‘Bri. Bri,’ she laughed as she looked at Pat and said, ‘He expected Brigie to come back with us. I told him we were going to Brigie’s. Isn’t that amazing?’ And Pat nodded in confirmation.
As she put the child to the floor she thought, ‘But there’ll always be Brigie, as long as she’s alive. And she’ll need an interest now—she’s always liked Lawrence. I’ll bring her over. It’ll be good to have her here…and, and I need her.’
There came to her mind a saying of her mother’s: When one door closes another one opens to let both stink out and fresh air in.
She couldn’t analyse how it actually applied to the present situation, only that without her father dying she could never have hoped to have the comfort of Brigie; and it surprised her at this moment how much she needed the comfort of Brigie; in spite of the love of Pat she needed the comfort of Brigie.
Eight
John and Jenny had returned to Manchester; the mill could not be left for long. As John had said in his quiet, even dull, way, his dad would have been the first to say, ‘‘Get back to work, life’s got to go on,’ and Jenny had endorsed this. Jenny endorsed everything that John said.
Although he was very fond of his brother, Dan found John heavy going. Already, at thirty-one, John was a stolid settled man. It was hard to believe he was childless for he had a slightly pompous air like that which a father of a grown family could have been excused for adopting.
Dan said as much to Barbara and she answered, ‘Oh, I don‘t know, I don’t find him pompous. I’ve always found him nice and kind. Jenny’s a little dull; she hasn’t changed from when I first met her, but she adores John, and that’s everything.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s everything.’ His voice was flat, he looked weary. He was going to miss his father. Yet the sight of her sitting before the dressing-table mirror had power to turn his thoughts away from his loss. There was no-one to equal her in the whole world; her skin looked like thick cream, he likened her eyes to bottomless dark pools, turbulent pools, but wherein he was happy that his very soul should sink and be lost forever; and he could never find words to describe her hair, crow-black but with a sheen on it that no crow possessed. Her figure became more beautiful with the years. She represented a constant ache to him, and always would. He said, ‘I’ll put Ruth and the children on the twelve-ten on Thursday. You do want them here, don’t you? They won’t be in the way?’
‘Of course not, of course not.’ She turned her head quickly and looked at him.
‘What I meant was they’ll be all right with Ruth if you think they’ll not upset Brigie.’
‘No, I’m sure they won’t, they’ll likely help to bring her out of herself. She’s taken this to heart much more than I ever imagined she would.’
‘We forget that she’s an old woman, she’s sixty-nine.’
‘You’d better not let her hear you say that, she doesn’t consider herself old.’ She smiled at him, and he smiled back at her as he said ‘I won’t mention her age,’ then went out.
In spite of the sadness that filled him he was experiencing a new phase of personal happiness because Barbara had been kinder and sweeter to him these past few weeks than ever before, and her sympathy since his father’s illness had touched him greatly. He considered himself very fortunate when he compared his life with that of John, and also of Katie…poor Katie.
Brigie showed no enthusiasm when it was proposed that the children should come to the Hall yet she did not voice anything against it. She had spoken very little to anyone since Harry’s death. As Barbara had said, she had taken his going to heart.
At intervals during her life she had been acquainted with deep loneliness. In her early years when loneliness had struck her she had longed to be old for then she imagined one didn’t feel things so vitally, emotions wouldn’t tear at the heart in old age. But the years had taught her that age did not harden the senses but made one more vulnerable and stripped one until one’s sensitivity lay on the surface of the skin like an open wound.
In the night she cried for Harry, for they had shared so much. Strangely, it was the uneducated man who had kept her mind alive in these later years, for he had become avid for knowledge and she had been happy to supply it. This often meant that she herself had to read up the subject first. Yes, he had kept her mind alive. And her body too, for although they had come together late in life they had come with a vitality that many would not have experienced in youth.
Oh, she missed Harry Bensham; more, yes, if the truth were told, more than she had ever missed Thomas Mallen.
But now her period of silence was over and she must talk. She must talk as she had never talked before. But she couldn’t do it until Dan had left the house.
Dan set out for Newcastle early on Wednesday morning. From her bedroom window, Brigie watched Barbara see him to the carriage; she watched her receive his warm embrace; she watched her wave her hand in farewell in answer to him; and the bitterness in her rose.
She took a seat at the little desk to the side of the window and waited for the knock on the door. It wasn’t long in coming. ‘Come in,’ she said.
Barbara came in and straight to her side, saying, ‘Dan has just gone.’
‘Yes, I saw him.’ Brigie continued to sort the bills on the desk.
‘Can I assist you in any way?’
‘Not in my present work.’
‘In what other way?’
Brigie now turned and looked into the pale beautiful face and she said slowly, ‘If you will come up into the nursery I will tell you.’
‘Is it not arranged to your liking?’
‘What I have to say has nothing to do with the arrangement of the nursery, but I’d rather we were not overheard, should you be inclined to raise your voice.’
Barbara stared at Brigie, her face slightly screwed with enquiry. ‘I don’t know what you mean, raise my voice. Why should I raise my voice?’
‘You will know shortly. I’ll thank you to accompany me to the nursery.’
It was the old Brigie speaking, the governess, the goddess of the upper floor; and Barbara followed her out as if the years had rolled away and she were a child again, defiant but forced to be obedient.
When they reached the nursery floor Brigie led the way across the landing into the room that, at one time, had been her sitting room and which had now been prepared to receive Ruth Foggety. Once inside and the door closed, she turned to Barbara and said, ‘Will you be taking a walk today?’
Barbara’s face slowly stiffened. Her lips scarcely moving, she said, ‘Yes, I shall be taking a walk today.’
Their eyes held.
&nb
sp; ‘I thought you might. And you will be meeting Michael?’
Barbara seemed to grow in inches, her chin moved upwards, her neck stretched, yet at the same time she looked as if she might collapse, such was the hue of her skin. Her voice was a muffled murmur as she said, ‘Well. Well, now you know.’
‘I’m not the only one who knew. Harry knew, that is what caused his collapse.’
Brigie restrained herself from going to Barbara’s support. And she needed support. She found it by reaching out and holding onto the high back of a chair; she rested against it, her bust almost pressed flat; and now she gasped as she said, ‘Oh no! No you don’t! You won’t. I won’t accept the blame.’
‘Nevertheless it was because he saw you together that he had the seizure.’
‘No! No! I tell you no! Those things can happen at any time. He was an old man, his high colour indicated heart trouble. No! No! I tell you. No!’
‘If it eases your conscience you may think that way.’
‘I must; I’m burdened with enough, I can’t bear any more.’
‘That is your own fault.’
‘It isn’t my fault. Don’t let’s go into all that again. It isn’t my fault. I didn’t ask to be born, and of such a father. Don’t say it’s my fault…’
‘We are up in the nursery, but I still suggest that you keep your voice down. Now’—Brigie turned about and walked to a chair and sat down, and not until after a full minute while she looked at Barbara where she stood, her body still pressed against the back of the chair, did she say, ‘This thing must stop.’
‘Oh. No, Brigie! Not this time!’
‘You have a husband and three children and, besides having a child, he has obligations that he must meet.’
‘We both know that, and we’ll both meet our obligations, but we won’t be parted.’
‘It can’t go on. It isn’t right.’
‘Huh!’ Now Barbara pushed her body back from the support of the chair but continued to grip the top with outstretched hands and she laughed mirthlessly as she said, ‘You to talk about right or wrong!’
‘When I did wrong it was to myself alone, I injured no-one.’
‘You injured my mother. If you hadn’t arranged that Thomas Mallen should be kept on my mother’s and Aunt Constance’s income he would never have been in the cottage; a man like him would have found some work, or friends; so, no matter what you say, you won’t convince me that you are without guilt in the shameful disastrous affair that resulted in me being born, and carrying within me the Mallen streak as they call it and which I have passed on to my sons, visibly to one…The name of Mallen is a curse in itself; people never seem to forget it. Pat Ferrier called my children the Mallen litter and I’ve hated him ever since. And he’s been repaid in kind.’ She paused for breath, and now, her voice a tone lower but holding even more bitterness, she said, ‘I hate myself for being the offspring of a Mallen. Do you know that? I hate myself. But being so, I know what I am and I know that I’m capable of going to any lengths to keep the only thing in life that I’ve ever thought was of any worth, my love for Michael and his for me…So, Brigie, whatever schemes you’ve got in your head you can forget them if they’re concerned with parting us, as I’m sure they are.’
Brigie’s face was almost as white as Barbara’s now, and when she spoke her words were thin and icy. ‘What if I inform Dan?’
‘The only result of that would be unfortunate for Dan because I’d leave him.’
‘And the children?’
There was a pause before she replied, quietly but firmly, ‘Yes, even the children.’
Barbara had moved from the support of the chair and was standing in the middle of the room now as if out in the open facing an enemy. She waited for Brigie to speak while their eyes held in deep bitterness.
But it was some minutes before Brigie said, ‘Do you imagine that Michael would ever leave his mother and his crippled wife…and his daughter for you?’
Barbara should have come back immediately with, ‘Yes, yes, I know he will,’ but there was a telling pause before she said, ‘If I ask him he will. He’ll do anything I ask of him.’
‘I doubt it. I know Michael Radlet better than you do. He’s a big man in bulk, but he was a weak youth, his only strength lay in stubbornness and I cannot see that in these last few years his character will have changed much. If his love for you had been so strong he would have defied Constance years ago. There was only one obstacle in his way then, and it was her, now there are three, his wife and his child…and his mother. So I shouldn’t count on the fact that he’ll sacrifice anything at all for you. He’ll carry on the clandestine meetings. Oh yes, because he always struck me, even as a young boy and in spite of his charm, as one who’d want to eat his cake and still have it.’
‘You’re just being spiteful now; you know it isn’t true; you don’t know Michael.’
‘You are not a stupid woman, Barbara; you know what I’m saying is true. However, we won’t discuss his character any further, but we will come to Dan. I never thought I would say this, but Dan is much too good a man for you. You took advantage of him in making him marry you…Yes, yes, you did.’ She lifted up her hand. ‘You made him marry you, partly, as you informed me in no mean manner, in order to get away from me and my authority. And I can only guess how little you have paid him in return. You may point to your sons as a form of payment, but a child can be born through indifference or rape, as we only too well know, don’t we?’ They stared white-faced at each other before Brigie ended, ‘The conception of children is not dependent on love.’
The nursery became silent, yet the silence vibrated with the emotions emanating from them both.
‘Do you hope to go on keeping Dan in ignorance?’
‘Just that, since you ask, because he is happy in his ignorance. Were I to leave him he’d be devastated. Michael and I have talked this out. We want to hurt no-one, but we want each other, we need each other, and we mean to have each other. We are discreet; we shall go on being discreet…So there you have it. If you bring this matter into the open you will wreck a number of lives; if you leave things as they are no-one will be hurt. It isn’t up to me, it’s up to you.’
Brigie began to cough. Her breath had caught in her throat, she felt for a moment she was going to choke. She was beaten.
Her coughing eased, she looked at Barbara who was staring at her, not a trace of shame or repentance on her face, and in this moment, and for the first time in her life, she felt hate towards her. She had never experienced hate, for never before had she allowed her emotions rein; she had disliked some people, despised others, while people like Harry’s cousin, Florrie, had aroused her contempt but never had she known the feeling of real hate, and that it should be turned on her beloved Barbara caused a feeling of sickness to rise in her. She felt ill.
As she rose slowly to her feet she knew that with her next words she would sever the last link with the only human being she had considered really her own; for if Barbara had been born of her flesh she could not have been more her own child. So once again, as it had done so often in the past, her life stretched lonely before her. Although she’d be visited by Harry’s children, Katie, John and Dan, she did not look upon them as kin; Barbara she had considered her only kin.
She stopped on her way to the door and said, ‘I am breaking my word to my dear husband, and will have to answer to my conscience for it, because you have forced me to remain silent for Dan’s sake and that of the children. I would like to add I wish for no further connection with you whatever, but this would require an explanation to Dan, therefore I’d be obliged if you would refrain from visiting me again unless accompanied by your husband…You will have to resort to your previous venue in order to continue your intrigue.’
One last look, a long pain-filled exchange, then Brigie continued to the door and went out.
Barbara stared at the door’s blank surface, then her head drooping to her chest, she covered her face with her hands
and, turning, she leant against the wall and audibly cried, both in voice and tears, ‘Oh Brigie. Brigie. Oh, Brigie, Brigie. Why don’t you understand? Can’t you understand? I can’t help it. I can’t help it.’
After some time, bringing herself upright, she dried her face with her handkerchief, smoothed her hair back and then, with her hand on the door handle, she paused for a moment as she thought, Thank God I beat her.
And in this moment the heartfelt utterance wasn’t made because now she could still continue to see Michael but because the thought of having to face Dan, should he ever know the truth, filled her with a sickness that was a mixture of fear, pain and remorse.
Nine
Nothing untoward happened in the Bensham family between the years 1890 and 1893, nor was there a great deal of turmoil in the world. England was all right. She was holding more than her own in commerce. Of course there were a few who said Lord Salisbury was mad for ceding Heligoland to the Germans. Didn’t he know what the Germans were up to? They were out to challenge our naval supremacy. Nonsense, nonsense. England ruled the waves and had always ruled the waves and would continue to do so as long as God managed the tides.
And women? Women were causing a ripple here and there. It was said that in London and in one or two big cities they had clubs, just like the men. Of course in general, few people believed this, but what was believed, and with concern in some quarters, was that more women were reading, and not only those in the middle classes. Why, it was even understood that women from the working class, the upper part of it, of course, were asking for books by George Eliot, but so ignorant were they that they thought the author was a man. Dickens, of course, was more commonly read, but not so Mrs Gaskell, or Trollope, and Thackeray wasn’t to the working-class taste; too sarky was Thackeray, he took the mickey. As for John Stuart Mill; if they had heard of his ‘Subjection of Woman’ the majority would have scorned to read it because they knew all about it, they lived it. Who knew better than they about the subjection of women?
The Mallen Litter Page 16