The Harrogate Secret (aka The Secret)

by Catherine Cookson

  He remained standing where he was for a few seconds, the snow falling gently on him, and he thought, Poor woman. And pity for her enveloped him as it had done when he first saw her face.

  Now, as he made his way through the thickening snow underfoot and the struggling traffic towards the Central Station, he was lifted back to the night when as a lad he had gone across the river in the little sculler and had felt that his life was changing and that things were about to happen to him…

  As he opened the door the house greeted him with warmth and the smell of roasting meat. He had shaken the snow off himself outside, but as he stood now divesting himself of his coat both Maggie and Belle appeared from the kitchen. And as Maggie, ever the housewife, said, ‘Don’t let that drip on the floor! Give it me here. You look frozen. You’ve been some time. What happened?’ he replied quietly, ‘Give me a chance to get in and I might tell you.’

  Belle was looking at him intently. She had a white apron over her dress, and she undid the straps and rolled it up on her way into the sitting room, her Ladies’ School training acting unconsciously telling her that a lady, even of a small establishment, must not enter her sitting or drawing room attired in an apron.

  She dropped the rolled bundle onto the couch, then turned and, going close to him now, she gripped the round collar of his jacket, saying, ‘Freddie, listen to me for a moment before you start. I…I don’t know what you’re going to say but this is what I want to say. I want to thank you for all you have done for me. In the first shock I could only think of myself and what this discovery meant to my future, but now I realise that I could have been brought up under such conditions I can’t bear to imagine had you not risked your life in trying to save me.’

  When her arms came round his neck and her head rested on his shoulder he stiffened for a moment. It wasn’t the first time she had hugged him. Like a child, she was always free with her embraces; but this was different. His arms went about her and for a moment he was holding a woman, and he pressed her to him and when she raised her head and looked up into his face he had to use all his will-power not to let his mouth fall on hers. But when her lips touched his cheek and seemed to linger there, he pushed her hastily from him, and as he did so Maggie entered the room, saving him from making some verbal response.

  ‘Well, let’s hear it,’ Maggie said as she took a seat to the side of the fire.

  Belle had hold of his hand now and they both sat down together on the couch.

  He began simply: ‘It’s all right; there was a letter left. Mrs Wheatley’s hung on to it all these years. Your mother’—he turned now and looked at Belle—‘made a statement in it which clarifies things once and for all.’ He now pulled the letter from the inner pocket of his jacket, but he hesitated on whom to hand it to first. So, to get out of this little dilemma, he said, ‘I’ll read it.’

  And he read it. And when he had finished he handed the sheet of paper to Belle, and she looked down at it for a moment. Then her fingers moved round the perimeter of it as if feeling the texture as one would of velvet or silk: he realised that this was the only material connection she had with her mother; her mother had handled that paper the day she was born.

  Maggie broke the girl’s inmost thoughts when she said hoarsely, ‘Well, that’s settled then; at least at this end. But what now? Do you make things clear to him?’ She looked from one to the other, and it was Belle who answered hastily, ‘Oh, no! No; there’s no need, is there? I’m your niece, Aunt Maggie, and you’ll always be Aunt Maggie to me; in fact, the mother I never knew.’

  ‘Hold your hand a minute.’ Freddie was pointing a wagging finger from one to the other now. ‘There’s three other people that know. Two of them I could trust…well, a bit; but the third, Mr Wheatley, I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could toss him. And he’s got a drink habit and he gets about. He’s just got to let his tongue go loose once and that would be that. No, I think the man should be told, that’s if’—and now his voice took on a harder note—‘he shows his real intentions. Up till now he’s given no indication that he wants to—’ he paused, shrugged his shoulders as he paused, then finished, ‘to marry you.’

  He was looking at her and she turned her head away, saying, ‘No, but…but I like him.’ She looked from one to the other now, a shy, almost embarrassed expression in her eyes. ‘And I—’ she swallowed before finishing, ‘I get the impression that he likes me.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no doubt about that.’ Freddie was on his feet now, his voice loud, aggressive. ‘All the lads on the quay like you. As Maggie here said when she brought you from school, the eyes were popping out like pipe shanks on Newcastle Central Station. Oh, yes, quite a number of people like you; but there’s degrees in liking. At first I liked May, but what did it come to? Dislike, even worse, and we weren’t married. Feelings change.’ He was nodding slowly at Belle now. ‘Believe me, dear, feelings change. There’s a great deal of difference between liking and loving.’

  ‘But of course it’s better if you like the one you love.’ They both turned and looked at Maggie now, and she raised her eyebrows, saying, ‘That’s true. I must admit it’s better to start with liking because if you’re fool enough to fall head over heels in love at first sight that has the habit of blinding you to liking. And there’s many a lass woke up one morning to find that the last thing she feels for a man is liking. But, Freddie’s right in many ways, lass. Anyway, the dinner’ll be kizzened up to cork, so let’s eat, because, as I see it, whichever way it goes we’ll all need sustenance to face the future.’

  Eight

  The snow became thicker underfoot; then it froze and for a fortnight most traffic was brought to a standstill. People had to be dug out of houses, horses out of snowdrifts, and here and there in the country there were tales of people actually starving to death. These might have just been tales, but when a shepherd was found frozen to death in a ditch and another man found dead, together with his horse, people said they had known nothing like it in the last thirty years.

  Yet the feeling of affection between liking and loving was proved when the great thaw set in and rivulets up in the hills became streams and streams became rivers and the Tyne swept away low bridges. It was really feared it was going to be another big flood. But in spite of this there came a knock on the door at eleven o’clock on the Saturday morning. And when Jinny opened it there stood facing her the man, in high boots and leggings and a three-quarter-length coat, the tails of which were dripping water. And she greeted him with, ‘By, you’re wet, sir!’

  ‘I am a bit. May I come in?’

  ‘Oh aye. But Miss is out and so is Freddie. Miss Belle’s in, though.’

  ‘It’s Miss Belle I’ve come to see.’

  ‘Eeh! Well, you’d better take that coat off and let me dry it by the kitchen fire. But I’ll go up now and tell her, she’s in her room, if you’d like to go into the sitting room, sir, and wait.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m afraid my boots are rather…’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about your boots, sir. These floors are used to all kinds of feet tramping over them.’

  Jinny hurried up the stairs and, knocking on Belle’s door, she said, ‘Miss! Miss!’

  ‘Yes, Jinny?’ Belle appeared at the door.

  ‘Didn’t you hear the front doorbell go?’

  ‘No. Someone called?’

  ‘Aye, somebody’s called, an’ they want to see you. So straighten your hair, it’s all tousled.’

  As Belle dashed back into the room and grabbed up a comb from the dressing table she called to Jinny, ‘Who is it, on a day like this?’

  ‘Aye, that’s what I said to meself when I saw him.’

  Belle was on the landing now and she stared at Jinny for a moment, but neither of them spoke except that Jinny inclined her head forward.

  Belle did not hurry down the stairs, she walked down slowly and as slowly across the hall and into the sitting room.

  He had been standing with his back to the fire. His legs
were steaming. But now he came hurriedly forward, saying, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve called at the wrong time.’

  ‘How…but how did you make it through all the slush and the…?’

  ‘Oh, the trains continue to run and the roads are running too’—he smiled now—‘some in two feet of water, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You’re very wet.’

  She looked at his still steaming leggings.

  ‘Oh, that’s nothing; they’ll soon dry. I’m used to being wet anyway, very often through to the skin when out riding.’

  ‘Oh, well; won’t you be seated?’

  He sat in the chair she indicated to the side of the fire; then she took her seat on the couch; and for a moment there was silence between them until he said, ‘I hope the news is that Miss Hewitt is better.’

  ‘Aunt Maggie? Oh, yes, yes; it was just a short spasm. She has a pain in her side at times and…and on that day it was a rather severe attack.’

  Again there was silence; then she was startled by his rising swiftly and seating himself beside her.

  Then taking her hand, he said, ‘I’ve missed seeing you. It…it seems like years.’

  She forced herself to smile and say, ‘It’s only a little over a fortnight,’ while remembering there was a time not long ago when he hadn’t bothered to see her for weeks. But he was away on business then; yet still, there was pen and paper. But why was she questioning herself? He was here beside her, close, and looking into her face, and her heart was racing because she felt he was about to say something that she longed to hear. But she knew he mustn’t utter those words until he had been put in the picture of their relationship…or their non-relationship.

  When she in turn now sprang up quickly, he gazed up at her in some amazement, saying, ‘What is it? You’re…you’re not pleased to see me? I…I thought…’

  ‘Yes. I mean, I am pleased to see you, but before you say anything…I mean…Oh, what do I mean!’ She put her hand to her brow and swung round. And now he was at her side, his hands holding her arms and he was saying, ‘Yes, Belle; what do you mean? You know what I’m going to say.’

  ‘Well, you mustn’t say it.’ She almost thrust him off. ‘Not yet, not yet. You must talk to Freddie.’

  ‘Why should I talk to Freddie? He…he has no jurisdiction over you. He’s no relation as far as I can understand.’

  ‘No, he is no relation’—her words were spaced—‘and neither is the woman I call Aunt Maggie. ‘

  His brows drew together and a look of bewilderment came on his face. ‘What are you trying to tell me, something about your parentage? My dear’—he put his hand out towards her again, in a gentle gesture now—‘wherever you came from makes no difference to me. You are what you are as I see you: someone beautiful and good, so lovely I can’t get you out of my mind.’

  ‘Please Mr…’

  ‘My name is Marcel.’

  Her head was bowed now as she said softly, ‘Please bear with me. There are things you should know, that you must know. I…I can’t tell you, but Freddie can.’

  ‘Freddie? Then he is some sort of relation?’

  ‘No, no. As I said, he’s no relation, but…but he knows all about me, much more so than Aunt Maggie.’ Her voice was a mere whisper now. ‘Will…will you please say no more at the moment until you have talked with him…with them both? Please!’ She was looking at him again.

  ‘Yes; as you wish. But I repeat, nothing that he has to tell me about you can make the slightest difference to my feelings.’

  She said now, ‘Do sit down again. And may I get you a cup of tea?’

  He did not give her a direct answer, but surprised her by putting his hand to his head and running his fingers through his hair and laughing silently before saying, ‘We could be enacting a play. You playing the little lady to a T, as you were no doubt trained to do at school, not refusing the suitor yet not accepting him, but offering him tea…Oh, Belle!’ She was forced to smile, but it was a weak gesture, as she said, ‘Yes; that’s what it might appear like, but to me it is no play unless you look upon the play as a tragedy.’

  ‘What!’ The laughter died in him, then he added words that could have been a question or a statement: ‘As serious as that?’

  ‘Yes, as serious as that.’

  ‘If that is so, please don’t distress yourself any further. I will wait and talk to…your Freddie who seems to be such an important factor in your life. When may I expect him in?’

  ‘Any moment. They only expected to be gone an hour because there won’t be much business contracted on the waterfront today, except that of sweeping out the flood. If you’ll excuse me, please, I’ll get you that cup of tea.’

  He said nothing but stood up as she went to leave the room.

  It was as she was crossing the hall that she heard the commotion outside the front door and then Maggie’s voice saying, ‘Never again! I don’t go down there until the sun is splitting the trees.’ The door burst open and they both came in shaking themselves, only to stop in the process and look at her, and she, in a dumbshow, pointed to the sitting room: then hastily approaching them she whispered, ‘He’s…he’s here.’

  ‘He? You mean?’

  She nodded, and Maggie said, ‘How has he made it in this? It’s like Noah’s Ark out there.’

  ‘He was very wet.’

  Freddie had said nothing so far: he had taken off his coat and boots and was now holding his hand out for Maggie’s boots, and for her coat too. But now he said, ‘You go on in, I’ll be there in a minute.’

  ‘I can’t go in,’ Maggie said, ‘not like this in me stockinged feet,’ only to be told, ‘He hasn’t come here to look at your feet. Go on in.’

  ‘Get my slippers, girl, the pair in the office.’

  Belle ran past Freddie, and he slowly made his way to the kitchen carrying the wet clothes, but Maggie turned about and went into her sitting room, saying loudly as she entered, ‘I’m in my stockinged feet; I’m a sight but I’m not making any excuses. I’m lucky to be alive. We’ve had to practically swim along that front. How are you?’

  ‘Very well, Miss Hewitt, very well. It’s a dreadful day. It’s been a dreadful two weeks. You were very brave to go out in it.’

  ‘And you’—she turned and looked at him as she seated herself by the fire and held her feet out to the blaze—‘are very foolish to risk the journey from Newcastle. They tell me the river’s up to the arches there.’

  ‘Well, not quite, but it’s pretty bad. I think it reached its highest in the night.’

  ‘Have you had a drink of any sort?’

  ‘No. Belle…was about to make one.’

  ‘Oh, well, sit yourself down, don’t stand about.’

  He smiled at her words, a rather sad, quiet smile, and when she said, ‘What’s amusing you?’ he answered, ‘you sound exactly like my grandmother; she still treats me as if I were ten: I must have warm underwear; I mustn’t go out without a coat in certain weathers; I must take a potion of medicine once a week.’

  Maggie smiled now, saying, ‘She sounds like a sensible woman, your grandmother.’

  ‘She is’—his voice was quiet—‘a very sensible and wonderful woman.’

  ‘It’s good to hear someone speak well of a relative. Ah’—she turned—‘here’s the family en masse.’

  Jinny had entered the room carrying a tray holding cups and saucers and a plate of scones, while behind her Freddie carried another tray bearing the silver teapot. Belle followed, and she closed the door behind her. But their greeting by Maggie, looking from one tray to the other, was, ‘We haven’t reached the time for afternoon tea yet. Why all the palaver? A cup of coffee I should imagine would have been more suitable.’

  ‘I asked if…I suggested tea, Aunt Maggie.’

  ‘Oh, well, if you suggested tea this is the right way to serve tea, I suppose. Thank you, Jinny.’

  Jinny said nothing, but her face expressed her thoughts and her voice would indeed have been loud if she had given ven
t to them.

  The noon tea party was a very strained affair, so much so that Belle, of a sudden turning to Freddie, said, ‘Mr Birkstead has called to…to, I think’—she drew in a long shuddering breath—‘put a proposition to me, but I told him that first of all he must listen to you and’—she now looked at Maggie—‘and to you, Aunt Maggie. So…so I will leave you to…to tell him all you know about…me.’ And looking at Freddie again, she said, ‘You may add to it my gratitude for the goodness and kindness I’ve received from you all these years.’

  To say that the three people she hurriedly left were embarrassed would be to put it mildly; but at the moment the least so was the visitor. That was until Freddie, looking at the man he wanted to dislike but found he couldn’t, not wholeheartedly anyway, said, ‘I can put it all in a nutshell to begin with by saying that but for her mother having an affair on the side with a sea captain, you and she could be half-brother and sister.’

  Freddie watched a look of incredulity pass over the man’s face, and when he added, ‘I was in the bedroom the night she was born and heard your father trying to prise the truth out of his wife and also, when the child came into life, ordering it to be destroyed.’

  ‘What! What are you saying? What is this all about anyway?’

  ‘Well, sir, I would take that seat again because there’s a lot more you haven’t heard yet, and it’s somewhat of a long and detailed story. So if you please, will you be seated.’

  The man sat, and for the next fifteen minutes he listened to the details which began with a little boy used as a runner because he had a little sculler boat.

  The room was hot, they were all sweating, the visitor most of all, and when he spoke his voice was thin with almost a snarl to it as he said, ‘You’ve made my father out to be a scoundrel.’