The Harrogate Secret (aka The Secret)

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘What’s this? What’s this?’ He took off his hat and coat and hung them in the cupboard in the hall, then followed both her and Maggie into the sitting room.

  ‘Have you had a nice day, or should I say, a successful one?’ It was Maggie looking at him now as he sat himself down in a chair by the fire. And in a flat voice he said, ‘Yes. Yes, miss, I’ve had what you’d call a moderately successful day business-wise, nothing though to make me jump about and act like a hill goat while the mother goat looks on approvingly.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Well now, I’m just bursting to know what’s happened to brighten your day.’

  ‘Nothing much.’ Belle had taken a seat opposite him and she shrugged her slim shoulders now as she said quietly, ‘But it’s been a very pleasant day, hasn’t it, Aunt Maggie?’

  ‘Yes; yes, you could say it’s been a very pleasant day.’

  ‘For all concerned?’ He again cast his glance between them and they looked at each other now and laughed as they said together, ‘For all concerned.’

  ‘We’ve been in pleasant company; that is, up till now.’ Belle made a prim face at him. And when he made no response, Maggie, her voice returning to normal, said, ‘Go and put the kettle on, Belle, that’s a good lass.’

  It was noticeable to them both that Belle hesitated for more than a moment before obeying. And when the door had closed on her, Freddie, looking at Maggie, said, ‘Well, tell me. What’s all this about?’

  ‘Nothing really; yet it could be something. It’s like this. You remember the Twaites told us about a man who asked her to dance at that coffee house? Well, there he was in town today. They recognised each other, and I must say, Freddie, he’s a gentleman. Well, of course, I’m going by his manner, his speech and his attitude. He asked if he could walk with us, and he came down to the quay. Well, I wasn’t going to the office and leave her with him, so the three of us walked further along and we chatted. He seemed to know quite a bit about shipping, but from the Newcastle end, and he was as worked up about the river as any of us. Apparently he has a small house in Newcastle and another in the country somewhere. Well, the top and bottom of it is I could see she was happy and a bit smitten. And who wouldn’t be, because he was quite charming. But as I said, I wasn’t leaving her with him; and apparently he didn’t want me to, and so when he asked if we would join him in a glass of wine, there we were, sipping wine together in the best hotel in town. Following this, we said goodbye, he with the hope that we would meet again. Well, Belle and I went down to the office, and she stayed with me and seemed to be very interested in all that went on. And it must have been about half past three when I left Andy to finish up, and we made for the town again, because she had decided there was a hat in Franklyns that she would like. So there we were and there he was again coming towards us as before. There was nothing planned; we all laughed. It happened that he was on his way to the station, but he said the trains run every half-hour so would we like to have a cup of tea with him. Well—’ She made a small movement with her head and her voice was low and sad as she went on, ‘I could see she was happy. And she’s on eighteen, Freddie, and youth goes so quickly, so I couldn’t put a spoke in. If he hadn’t been so nice and of the class he is I likely would have. But you know what I want for her, and you know what she’s entitled to.’ The last words were stressed. ‘The top and the bottom of it was, we had tea, and he asked us to a musical evening in Newcastle. Really, as you know, under these circumstances he was asking her but he couldn’t have her without me, but he’s a very, very pleasant sort of fellow. So there it is.’

  Freddie stared at her in not a little astonishment. If the man had been interested in her herself she couldn’t have seemed more pleased. He said flatly, ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Marcel…Baxter, that’s how I think it’s pronounced. It sounded French to me, and there could be a little of the foreigner in him. Anyway—’ She reached out and put her hand on his knee, saying now, ‘Be happy for her, Freddie. He mightn’t be the one, he could just be passing through sort of, but he’s a good start. After mixing with someone like him she won’t pick lower.’

  ‘Maggie! You’ve had enough experience to know that a smooth tongue and a velvet jacket doesn’t go to make the man.’

  ‘Oh, I know, I know, nobody better. And don’t you forget’—her voice was harsh now—‘it was me that taught you to distinguish between the gold and the dross.’

  After a strain-filled moment, he said, ‘How old is he, a young boy?’

  ‘Oh, no, no.’ She shook her head. ‘I would say he’s your age. Well, perhaps a little younger.’

  ‘I hope you know what you’re letting her in for.’

  ‘Well, she’s got to be let in for something before much longer. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes. I know that. But whoever she marries will have to be put in the picture. Have you thought of that?’

  ‘Yes, I’m well aware of that. And don’t shout at me. Anyway, here she comes. And for goodness sake take that look off your face and’—she was hissing now—‘face up to facts, she sees you as a brother. Face up to it, man.’

  As Belle entered the room he rose, saying, ‘I’m going to have a wash.’

  Belle, now looking at Maggie, asked, ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  ‘Oh, don’t take any notice; he’s at sixes and sevens with himself.’

  ‘Aunt Maggie’—she bent towards her—‘is there something wrong with him? I mean, he hasn’t been the same since I came home. Well, not since he was knocked about that night. Do you think he regrets breaking it off with May?’

  ‘Oh, no. I should say not. I think he’s been trying to break away for some long time before now.’

  ‘I get upset when he acts like this, because he wasn’t pleased about my enjoying that evening with Nancy, just because I danced with that man.’

  She laughed now, adding, ‘Why did I say that man?’ And her smile widened and her voice softened as she went on, ‘He is nice, isn’t he, Aunt Maggie? Different.’

  ‘Yes, he’s nice and he’s different, but you’ll meet a lot of nice and different men before you’re much older, so don’t get too excited about this one. But I admit, he’s quite good to start on.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Maggie, good to start on! What do you think they’re going to do, line up for me to choose from?’

  Her voice serious now, Maggie said, ‘Yes, yes, girl, be patient and they’ll line up for you to choose from.’

  ‘I…I don’t like to think that way, Aunt Maggie.’

  Maggie looked up into the serious face. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it shows that you’re not a flibbertigibbet. But all I say is, don’t set your heart on the first man that’s nice to you.’

  ‘I won’t.’ She bent and put her arms round Maggie’s neck. ‘But he was nice, and so amusing and entertaining.’ Then mischievously she added, ‘Are you looking forward to going to the concert, the musical evening with him, Miss Hewitt?’

  ‘Yes, I am. But you never know, I might have a cold that night and neither of us will be able to go.’

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t, Aunt Maggie, would you?’

  ‘You never know. Anyway, just remember this’—she put out her hand and stroked the pale cheek—‘whatever I do for you it will be done for the best.’

  Five

  It was almost two months later when Freddie met the ‘gentleman’, and emotions in the house had been alternating between very high and very low throughout that period. But the height and the depth were experienced during the morning of the day in early December when the ‘gentleman’ was to come to tea. Maggie had decided it was time they returned his hospitality for, since they had first met him, he had accompanied them to two concerts and an exhibition. But on that day instead of the ‘gentleman’ turning up for tea he sent a messenger with a letter, not for Belle, but for Maggie. The letter from an address in Newcastle had expressed his apologies and his keen disappointment at not being able to keep the appointment, explain
ing that he had been called away on business and that he would get in touch again when he returned. Would she please convey his deep regret to Miss Belle for the loss of her company? He remained, her faithful servant, Marcel Birkstead. The writing was small and neat.

  Freddie had repeated the name aloud after Maggie had handed him the letter; he had looked at her and said, ‘You said his name was Baxter.’

  And she had answered, ‘Well, it sounded like that.’

  ‘It reads like Birk…stead, to me.’ And he had added, ‘Where have I heard that name before? We have no-one on the books of that name, have we?’

  ‘No, but we’ve got a couple of Baxters.’

  ‘But this isn’t Baxter,’ he had insisted.

  Belle’s reaction had been one of keen disappointment. And when she had said to Maggie, ‘He could have stated when we could expect him back,’ Freddie had turned on her sharply, saying, ‘Has it reached that stage where he’s got to be accountable for his actions to you?’ And to his amazement she had cried at him, ‘Yes! Yes, it has,’ then rushed from the room. And he had looked at Maggie and said, ‘Well now, what about that? You’ve never indicated that things have gone as far as this.’

  And she had replied simply, ‘Because I didn’t think they had. In fact, there’s been times of late when I thought she was going off him, especially last week after he had cut into her telling of an incident at school rather sharply.’

  ‘You didn’t see him last week. At least I wasn’t told of it.’

  ‘No; you weren’t told of it’—her tone had been harsh—‘because I didn’t want to go through another black period when you never open your mouth until you’re forced to. And let me tell you, your mother’s noticed it too, and Nancy.’ Then, her tone changing, she had said in a voice a little above a whisper, ‘Look, Freddie; you’ve got to let her go,’ and on this he had turned on her and yelled, ‘Why? Tell me why.’ And she had hissed back at him, ‘Because as I’ve told you she doesn’t think of you in that way, and if you brought such feelings as you harbour into the open nothing would be the same between you ever again. She’d even become afraid of you. I know. I’m sure of it. You’re like her father. What I mean is, you’ve taken the place of him over the years.’

  ‘Ten years older and like her father.’

  ‘Ten years can appear like fifty to a girl of eighteen. Thirty is old. I know myself how I thought of age at that stage of my life. But that’s beside the point.’ She had paused as though thinking back; then she had ended, ‘What is the point, and you must get it into your head, is that she’ll never think of you but in the light of some sort of a parent.’

  Christmas had not been very gay. He had accompanied the two of them to the coffee house because Nancy was singing there again, and only Nancy had seemed to enjoy the evening. But then she had reasons of her own for her added happiness, for a young man, also from North Shields, had come to hear her sing. She had known him for some time: he had often spoken to her in the town. From the beginning she had liked his smell, his voice, and his hand on her arm as he had guided her across the road, which, of course, was quite unnecessary as she knew her way.

  At first this acquaintance with the young man had caused laughter in the house especially from her father; but now both he and Jinny were very concerned for he was a customs officer and, as such, was considered an enemy of the people, especially of Robert’s mates, who still at times kept him supplied with a decent drink and baccy. As Jinny had said to Freddie, it couldn’t have been worse if she had taken a fancy to a pollisman.

  The meeting with Marcel Birkstead finally took place on the third Saturday in January when the sky was low and the air was so cutting it penetrated the thickest of clothes, and the general opinion of the weather was that they were in for it. There had been a slight fall of snow earlier in the month but nothing that could stop traffic. But on this day the sky was laden and everyone knew that the snow was coming and that it would be heavy.

  There was a blazing fire burning in the sitting room. Maggie had acquired what was called a Chesterfield. The couch was set opposite the fire and Belle was curled up in one corner of it, reading, while Maggie sat in the other crocheting a shawl. She liked crocheting, and Saturday and Sunday afternoons were the only daytime hours she allowed herself to relax in this way. She closed the quay office at one o’clock on a Saturday which caused a certain amount of upset in other offices on the quay in which the clerks had to work till five o’clock.

  Jinny now appeared at the door. She was holding a large bass bag. ‘I’m off now, miss,’ she said. ‘An’ I hope I’ll be able to find me way back on Monday. If not the big fellow there’—she nodded towards Freddie, sitting in the leather chair—‘better come and dig me out.’

  ‘Now have you got everything you want?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, miss. With this lot I could last out a week if we were snowed up.’ She jerked the bag in her hand; then said, ‘Well, so long now,’ and added, ‘By! You all look nice and comfortable there.’

  Freddie rose from the chair and was about to make a remark when the sound of the front doorbell ringing brought their eyes questioning each other.

  It was Maggie who said, ‘Who can this be? ’Tis neither the butcher, the baker, nor the candlestick maker on a Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘’Tis likely the Duke of Northumberland.’

  Maggie thrust out her hand towards Belle, saying, ‘Could be at that, miss. You never know.’

  Belle was smiling back at her as she said, ‘No, you never know; but there are some people who wouldn’t be impressed.’

  ‘I’ll answer it.’ Freddie was following his mother out of the room, and when she crossed the hall to leave by the back door, he checked her, saying, ‘Come out this way,’ and she laughed into his face. ‘Why not? Why not indeed?’ she said.

  When he opened the door they both stared at the man standing on the step. But before he was able to speak Jinny sidled past them, saying, ‘Well, see you on Monday, lad.’

  The two men stared at each other, the visitor looking as surprised as Freddie but not so straight-faced. ‘Yes? What can I do for you?’

  ‘I…I have called to see the Miss Hewitts. My name is Marcel Birkstead, and I’m sure you must be Frederick Musgrave.’

  He did pronounce it like Baxter, only drawn out.

  Freddie nodded and glanced towards the sitting-room door before he said, ‘Come in.’

  ‘It looks as if we might have snow.’ He was offering his high hat to Freddie now.

  ‘I’ll take your coat.’

  ‘Oh, thank you. Thank you.’

  Freddie could already see what had got the women, both of them: there was a quiet courteous charm about the fellow. But he was asking himself, and loudly, where he had seen him before; he could swear he had met up with him somewhere.

  He now walked towards the sitting-room door and, thrusting it open, he said, ‘You have a visitor.’

  Both Maggie and Belle were on their feet now, and Freddie could have described Maggie’s face as a beam, she was smiling so widely, but not so Belle. Belle’s manner, he was surprised to observe, was what could be described as decorous, quietly decorous.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Birkstead,’ she said.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Belle; and you, Miss Maggie. I’m sorry if I’m intruding.’

  ‘You’re not intruding, man, sit down. Sit down.’ Maggie indicated a chair, and once he was seated she began, ‘You got your business over then?’

  ‘It wasn’t quite all business; I…I was rather unwell for a time, caught a bit of fever.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. And yes, I can see that you still look peaked. Well now, what would you like to drink? Something to warm you on this cold day? I could offer you tea, or something very much stronger and hotter.’

  He smiled widely now, saying, ‘Tea will be excellent. I’m very partial to tea.’

  ‘Well, tea it shall be; and I’ll go and make it.’

  ‘You’ll
do no such thing; I’ll see to it.’

  Maggie turned on Freddie now, saying, ‘And you’ll do no such thing. Sit yourself down there. Anyway, you’ve never made a decent cup of tea in your life.’

  She laughed, and the visitor laughed, and Belle smiled; but Freddie, sitting down on the corner of the couch, looked at the visitor who was now looking at Belle and explaining that he had been as far as Harrogate over the past weeks.

  Where had he seen him before? He was a man of more than medium height, not quite as tall as himself, but much broader. He had deep blue eyes and thick fair hair that framed his longish face; his mouth was wide and full-lipped; his skin at the present moment, pale. He had very expressive hands. He seemed to talk with them, which to Freddie’s mind bore out the idea that he could be partly foreign as his Christian name suggested, because the few Frenchmen he had come across always seemed to be waving their hands or their arms around. His voice was pleasant, what he supposed Belle would call cultured.

  But where had he seen him before? He had come across him somewhere; he could swear on it.

  The man was addressing him now: ‘I was saying to Miss Belle that there is to be a Grand Ball at the Assembly Rooms in the city. It would complete a foursome if you would join us, Mr Musgrave.’

  Freddie looked from one to the other. He had missed what had gone before, but Belle must have already accepted his invitation. He replied coolly, ‘I’m afraid I’m no hand with my feet, so to speak; I’ve never had time for dancing.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Freddie; you’ve danced here in this very room. On New Year’s morning you jigged.’

  ‘I don’t think they would appreciate our jigging at the Assembly Rooms, Belle. However, we’ll see.’