‘Will one of you gentlemen kindly take this tray from me?’
Maggie had pushed the door open with her buttocks, and when they both sprang forward it was the visitor who reached her first; and she said, ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
There was a silver tea service on the tray and the best china.
The tray set on the table, Maggie began to pour out, saying as she did so, ‘You take lemon with your tea, don’t you, Mr Birkstead?’
‘Yes. How good of you to remember.’
‘Well, it isn’t everybody who has such tastes. Here, Belle, pass that to Mr Birkstead. Freddie, you’ll have milk as usual?’ She cast what could have been a naughty glance towards Freddie, and he nonplussed her for a moment by saying, ‘No, I’ll take it straight.’
‘Oh, you’ll take it straight. Very well, very well.’
The conversation turned to the weather: the snow being imminent; how long it might last; whether it would go on for weeks as it had done in past years; would the ice in the river hold up the shipping more than the sandbanks have done? And this went on until Freddie asked a straight question: ‘What is your trade, Mr Birkstead, or should I say, profession?’
‘Oh—’ The man shrugged one shoulder now and, picking up his cup again from the small side table, he looked at it before he said, ‘I don’t think I can lay claim to either. I was left at school too long, and then I went to university, but didn’t shine there and I came down before I should. I then had what they called scarlet fever, which laid me low for a time; since when I have dabbled a little in this and that, buying property mostly. My grandmother owns mills and warehouses in the city; and so now and again I might supervise a cargo coming in or going out. Which reminds me, speaking of my grandmother, she has expressed a wish to meet you all.’
He included Freddie in his glance. ‘And so when the weather is a little more clement, fit for travelling, especially for crossing the river, I would like you all to come to tea one day.’
‘Your house is at yon side of the river? I thought it was in the country.’
‘Yes; yes, it’s what you call the country. It’s well past the outskirts of the town and the villages. It was, at first…well, just an ordinary country house with a minimum of land, but over the years my grandmother, who is a real innovator, has extended the property, and the land. Oh yes, certainly the land. She loves land, more so than I do, I’m afraid. Now we have nearly fifty acres whereas in the beginning it was about six. How much land she would have acquired had she always lived there I can’t imagine; but she only took over when my father died. I was ten at the time, and The Towers in those days seemed a gaunt, dull…’
Freddie had sprung to his feet. What he would have done next he didn’t know because he was seeing a man sitting in front of him, his nose almost touching his, and saying, ‘You are to forget what you heard and saw last night. If you divulge…I mean, if you talk about it to anyone it will come back to me and I have ways and means of paying for services done, good and bad. You understand me?’
But the vision of the man was swept from his mind when he heard the clatter of Maggie’s teacup dropping onto the saucer and her squeal when the tea spilled over her lap.
‘What is it, Auntie? What is it?’
Belle had her arms around Maggie’s shoulders, and when Maggie muttered something about feeling faint Freddie pushed Belle aside and, bending down, he almost lifted Maggie from the couch and led her from the room, shouting over his shoulder to Belle as he did so, ‘Come along, Belle, and see to her!’
Belle turned a startled and apologetic glance on the man who had been in her mind every day for weeks now, and she said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Please, please, don’t be. I’ll take my departure; and I’ll call again, if I may?’
‘Oh yes, please do.’ She was backing from him, and he, walking towards her, asked softly, ‘You would like me to?’
She nodded twice, then gulped before answering, ‘Yes. Yes, I would like you to.’ Then she turned and ran from the room…
Maggie was in her bedroom sitting by the side of the window and Freddie was bending over her, saying, ‘Drink this. Drink it all up.’
As Maggie took the glass from his hand, Belle said, ‘What is it, Aunt Maggie? That pain again?’
Maggie nodded just the slightest, but Belle said, ‘Then we must call the doctor.’ And she looked up at Freddie. ‘Call him at once.’
‘Be quiet!’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, be quiet. She doesn’t need a doctor, not at the moment.’
‘Well, if she doesn’t need a doctor now I wouldn’t like to see her when she does.’
‘Belle.’ Maggie’s voice was soft. ‘It’s as Freddie says, I don’t need a doctor at the moment. Now be a good lass: go and set the table for dinner; I know Jinny left a pie in the oven, see if it’s done, will you? And you could put the vegetables on.’
‘You want to get rid of me, don’t you?’ The young girl’s face was stiff, as was her body. ‘There’s something here I don’t understand. I’m not a child any longer, and I feel there’s an explanation.’
‘By God! There’s an explanation, girl, and when you get it you won’t like it. Go and do as Maggie says.’
Perhaps more so than the words the fierceness in his face and tone made her shrink back from him. Then the tears spurting from her eyes, she turned and ran from the room.
‘Oh, my God!’ Maggie put up her hand and lifted the hair back from her brow. ‘What lies before us, lad? I knew it would come some time, but not like this. And she’s gone on him, deep, and he on her. And he’s a nice enough fella. You could see for yourself.’
‘Anything that’s sprung from Gallagher can’t be nice, Maggie. I felt something the moment I saw him. I knew…I knew I had seen him before; I’d had that face close to mine. He’s a spitting image of his father, almost like a twin only a bit younger. Well, there’s one thing sure, she’ll have to be told, and right from the beginning.’
‘No, Freddie. How can we do it!’
‘How can we not do it, Maggie?’
‘Yes, you’re right, how can we not do it? But—’ She pulled herself further back into the chair and somewhat eagerly now, she said, ‘You did mention, if you remember, that there was some question of her mother having gone a bit astray with a sea captain or somebody. If that was the case…’
‘Don’t lay any stock on that, Maggie. The woman, as I recall, was raving at the time, in the throes of labour, and she likely wanted to get the better of him. And who wouldn’t, because he was a beast of a fella, frightening. Those three who looked after the house only stayed on because they were on a good thing, as regards food and pay, and both of these were hard to come by in those days. And by the way, Maggie, there’s more you should know. I’ve kept it back from you to save your peace of mind, but that Cora’s Coffee House is owned by one of them, if not the three of them. Connie, as I told you, the daughter, is the cashier. She didn’t recognise me but I recognised her in spite of the flour on her face. As I told you, she’s covered with pockmarks and has a deep cast in her eye. And I’d like to bet my life now, she knows who he is because if I recall the resemblance, it’s nearly sure she would. And it’s almost certain she’s found out who Belle is an’ all. Oh aye. She came here, as I told you, surprised that it was you who had taken the bairn and not me ma; but, if me guess is right, she’s thinking it’s best to keep a still tongue in her head because they didn’t get that coffee house on the savings of three servants. You can bet your life on that.’
‘Well, trouble always comes in threes they say; that’s the second. What’ll be the third?’
‘I can tell you that right now, Maggie. He’ll have to be told an’ all.’
‘Oh, dear God! Oh, I’m sorry to the heart for that, Freddie, for as much as you say he’s like his father, to my mind it might only be in his looks, ’cos I admit, I took to him and can understand Belle’s feelings.’
‘Funny you can
understand hers but you can’t understand mine, Maggie.’ It was a quiet statement, and she looked up at him sadly for a moment before she replied, ‘Yes; yes, I can, Freddie, but as I’ve told you before, I know her feelings and they don’t lie in your direction, not that way…not the way you would want. And, as God’s my judge, I’m sorry at this moment it’s so.’
He turned from her and stood looking down the room for a long moment before he said, ‘Well, we can’t let her go on in this fashion; we’d better get it over with.’ He turned to her again. ‘It’s too cold for you to sit in here. Come on back into the sitting room.’ Slowly she rose from the chair and dispiritedly said, ‘Yes, we’ll go into the sitting room and there take the sparkle out of a young lass’s life, because let’s face it, once she’s got knowledge of her beginnings and such as they were, she’ll never be the same again.’
Six
It was seven o’clock the same evening. The snow had begun to fall. The two lamps with their pink glass shades were filling the room with a warm glow while the fire was crackling and burning brightly. The atmosphere emanated warmth and comfort, but not one of them felt it in any way.
Maggie and Freddie were sitting on the couch now, but Belle sat apart, not in one of the easy chairs set each side of the fireplace, but in a straight-backed chair set a good yard from that end of the couch where Freddie was seated. Her skin had lost its warm tint and even in the glow from the lampshades it looked a pasty white; and this had the effect of making her eyes look larger still, giving the illusion that they were set deep back in the sockets, and all was emphasised by the black abundance of her hair.
She had sat without speaking for the past half-hour: that was when Freddie had stopped talking and Maggie had taken up the story of the night she had brought her across the water. Neither of them, however, as arranged, had made any allusion to what had happened to the man who had pursued them. In fact, they had not mentioned being pursued. But Maggie had gone on to relate that the next day Roderick Gallagher had been missing, and that when, eventually, his body had turned up in the river, it was evident he had been attacked. And at that point Maggie had added, ‘You need never feel sorry for him, my dear; he wasn’t a good man.’
It was at that point Belle had spoken when she said quietly, ‘But he was my father.’
Maggie and Freddie had exchanged a quick glance, and it was Maggie who said, ‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’ And Belle had raised her voice and cried, ‘Why do you say suppose so? He was or he wasn’t. Is there something else you are keeping back from me?’—to which Maggie had given the non-committal answer: ‘I wasn’t there the night you were born, and you must realise that Freddie here was a little lad.’ And to this Belle had cried, ‘Well! For a little lad he seems to have had a very good memory,’ and then sat without speaking further for almost half an hour until Maggie pleaded: ‘Say something, dear, please. We…we did everything for the best to save you pain.’
Such had been Belle’s tone that Maggie now expected the girl to retort in anger, but what she said now, and in a quiet tone while looking at Freddie, was, ‘Is that why I’m afraid of the dark, because I was kept in that room?’
He stretched out and unwound her clasped stiff fingers and just as quickly, and softly, he answered, ‘Yes, dear, that is the reason. It…it was a dreadful place. Even now when I remember it at night, and though the time I was in there was short, I know how riddled I was with fright.’
‘But why should he want to kill me if I was his own child?’
Freddie swallowed deeply before he said, ‘He was a jealous man. From what I can gather he imagined your mother might have been…well, associating with someone else. You understand?’
‘Yes, yes, Freddie, I understand.’ She withdrew her hands from his and her body moved in the chair as if she was about to rise; but she remained seated and, looking across at Maggie now, she said, ‘You seemed to hesitate when you were about to confirm that he was my father, why? I can’t see that a man would want to kill his child if it was his child. Could…could my father have been someone else?’
‘I don’t know, dear. I don’t want to sully the name of your mother.’
‘Hell! Hell!’
They were both startled. The young girl they looked upon as being incapable of any coarseness was standing glaring at them and swearing at them. And she went on, ‘Does it matter what my mother did as long as that man doesn’t prove to be my father? She could be a whore…’
‘We’ll have none of that! Now calm yourself down.’ Maggie too was on her feet, but Freddie remained seated, his head bowed. He knew what was inspiring her to wish to prove that there was no blood relationship between her and Marcel Birkstead, a name he had no right to use for his true name was Gallagher.
‘Anyway’—Maggie was shouting now—‘there’s nothing you can do about it. There’s no way you can prove you are or you aren’t that man’s daughter. But as things stand, you are, and that makes our visitor today your half-brother.’
‘He’s not. He’s not. There’s no resemblance. He is very fair and I’m very dark…Was my mother dark?’ She was addressing Freddie now. ‘You saw her on the bed, you said. Was she dark?’
‘I cannot recall what she looked like, only that she was a very ill woman.’
‘If you were there all the time, as you say you were, and pushed under the bed, you must have heard her say something.’
Yes, he had heard her say something, but he couldn’t remember her words, only the impression that Gallagher was trying to get a confession out of her that he had not fathered her child. Even now, when the memory was dim in his mind, he knew deep within him that Gallagher had not been the father of the child, the proof of which lay in his determination to get rid of it. So why couldn’t he now stand up, put his arms about her and comfort her, saying, ‘You are not Gallagher’s daughter. There is no blood relationship between you and Marcel Birkstead or Gallagher or whatever. So don’t look like that, don’t change.’ But she was already changed. She would never be the same again. His Belle, Maggie’s Belle, was gone. In her place was an angry young woman.
She brought his head sharply up as she said, ‘That woman Wheatley, who owns the coffee house, you said she was the maid, she could know something. She was bound to know if my mother was meeting another man. I’ll go and ask her.’
‘You’ll do no such thing, girl.’ Maggie was now standing in front of her. ‘I’ve looked after you all these years. I’ve brought you up as your mother might have, in fact, better, because you have been happy in this house and you would have never known happiness in that place across the water, because that man was bad, evil. Now, go to bed. We will talk more tomorrow when we are all in a calmer frame of mind. But remember this’—her hands went out and clutched the thin arms—‘I want your happiness. I’ve always wanted your happiness. So has Freddie. I’ve always thought about you as my daughter, a daughter I was deprived of having because the man I was going to marry was drowned and my father along of him. For years I was lost. I led a lonely life, and then Freddie came onto my horizon and he altered it. And then he brought you into it, and you’ve got him to thank for saving your life, don’t forget that, girl, always remember that. But when he brought you into my life my existence changed: I became a different woman. I’ve got that to thank you for too. But at the same time you’ve got a lot to thank me for…and Freddie. Oh, definitely Freddie.’
She now watched the face before her crumple, the lips quiver, the eyelids blink, and when a sob burst from her Maggie drew her tightly into her embrace. And her own eyes were wet and her voice had a break in it as she comforted her: ‘There now. There now. It’ll work out. We will do all we can to find out the truth.’
Belle slowly withdrew herself from Maggie’s embrace and, gulping in her throat, said quietly, ‘Will he have to be told?’
Maggie turned and looked at Freddie, and they both waited for his answer. And then it came: ‘Yes, he’ll have to be told. Whichever way it works out he’ll have
to be told.’
Seven
The trains were running on the Sunday but not as frequently as the weekday half-hour periods. Freddie boarded one at ten o’clock on the Sunday morning. It was snowing heavily when he alighted at Newcastle. There were no cabs for hire as the horses were finding it difficult to keep their footing on the hilly streets. So it was near eleven o’clock when he reached the coffee house. It was closed, as he had expected it to be on a Sunday. But he went down an alleyway and knocked on a side door for he had been given to understand that the owners lived upstairs.
He had to rap hard a number of times before it was opened, and there stood a man, old and bent with a shrivelled face in which he could see no resemblance to the driver who had dropped him on the waterfront all those years ago.
He said, ‘Mr Wheatley?’
‘Aye; what d’you want? This is Sunday, we’re not open.’
‘I know that but can I have a word with you and Connie?’
‘Who are you?’
‘You wouldn’t remember me, it’s a long time ago: the twelve-year-old lad you drove one night down to the Shields dockside and dropped him off the cart.’
The man took two steps back from him, then muttered something that was like, ‘God Almighty!’ He then pulled the door wider and made a motion with his hand and Freddie stepped into a passageway, and when the door was closed he followed the man up some narrow stairs and onto a landing. It was dimly lit by a small window at the far end, but his feet told him he was walking on carpet. Then he watched the old man thrust open the door and he followed him. It was quite a large room and very comfortably furnished. He saw at once an old woman sitting in a chair by the fire. She had her legs stretched out on a stool and her feet looked swollen. And at the other side of the room and rising from behind what looked like a small mahogany desk was Connie, almost as he remembered her, for she had no flour or powder on her face today: the pocks were evident as was the eye. She came forward slowly, saying, ‘Good morning, sir.’
The Harrogate Secret (aka The Secret) Page 20