The Harrogate Secret (aka The Secret)

by Catherine Cookson

  That it seemed the whole town was whispering again they were all well aware, but nothing had appeared in the newspapers, not even in Probes Column, which ferreted out information and, over the past year, had increased twofold the circulation of one particular local paper. Before, it had been known as merely a political stirrer, and, as most people who were wise knew, politics were best left alone; only people with devious minds went in for such things; and if they didn’t trouble the country the country wouldn’t trouble them, and things would go on smoothly as they had done for hundreds of years. A war here and there, a famine, a few epidemics, and a bright note now and again with news of the Royal Family and the Queen herself and things like the Great Exhibition, which was still talked about, and, of course, there was Barge Day on Holy Thursday on the river. Now that parade would cheer anybody up, for all the towns on the river were turned topsy-turvy with merriment…

  The day Belle came downstairs for the first time she wore only her nightdress, a dressing gown, and a lace shawl, for as yet she could not bear anything close pressed against her skin.

  It was just past noon and the sun was shining, and when Jinny guided her through the door into the sitting room she stopped for a moment, and looking up into Jinny’s face, she said, ‘I think it’s the most beautiful room in the world.’

  ‘What!’ said Jinny. ‘You still think that way after being in The Towers?’

  ‘Oh’—Belle gave a little shudder—‘that wasn’t a home, Jinny; it was an enormous doll’s house.’ Yes, she nodded to herself, that’s what it was, an enormous doll’s house. And that old woman was the big doll.

  ‘Well, there’s the couch all ready for you; and you know, when his nibs comes in the first thing he’ll do is bawl at me and say, “Why did you let her come downstairs?” And then he’ll come in here as soft as pie and say, “How are you, dear? You’re looking better.”’

  Jinny’s mimicry made Belle laugh. And as she sat on the couch she said to Jinny, ‘You know your son, Jinny, inside out.’

  And surprisingly Jinny answered flatly, ‘Oh, no, I don’t, lass. No, I don’t. There’s things that’s always gone on in his mind that I couldn’t reach to or fathom. He’s been different to the rest from the first, sharper you know, thinks ahead. Aye’—she nodded now—‘too much ahead, and it gets him into trouble. But he’s got a daft spot that contradicts all the rest of him, if you know what I mean. Like it was with May: how he let himself be caught and hung onto with that one, God knows, ’cos I don’t. Except that for all his bawling and his big head he doesn’t like hurtin’ people.’

  ‘Well, you know, Jinny, you’ve given an exact picture of yourself.’

  ‘Go on with you, cheeky face. Exact picture of meself, indeed! Huh!’ But as she repeated this apparent summing up of her feelings, her expression showed that she was not a little pleased at the compliment. Nevertheless, having to act like Jinny, she turned away, saying, ‘I’d better go and see what that one’s doin’ in the kitchen.’

  She was halfway down the room when she turned and said, ‘She might be all right with a duster and a mop but she’s got a hand like an iron shovel when it comes to pastry.’

  ‘You’ll soon alter that, Jinny, and’—Belle paused—‘be nice to her, please. I’m here now because of her, otherwise I know I’d never have made it from that place. And as Mary says, that very afternoon the mistress ordered her to lock me in. I shiver when I think of it, Jinny. So, be nice to her. And she’s never had a mother.’

  ‘Oh! Talk about soft soap, go on with you.’

  On this Jinny went out and Belle lay back against the cushions and looked about her. It was indeed a beautiful room because it was homely. She never wanted to leave this house. Suddenly she began to pray that nothing would happen to cause her ever to leave it again, and Freddie. She put her fingers to her face. The swelling had gone down but her eyes were still discoloured and her cheeks a muddy yellow colour. The doctor had assured her only this morning that in a week or so’s time her colour would be back to normal.

  When a shadow passed the window she started, then let out a slow breath. As she did so she saw John pause, look in on her and wave, and she waved back. Yet the sight of him outside didn’t bring her a feeling of security; she wanted someone near her; she had this fear of being left alone. She just stayed her hand from going to the little brass bell on the table and bringing in Mary or Jinny again and asking one of them to stay with her until Freddie came in. It was odd, but once Freddie came into the house this fear would be subdued; it seemed not to matter if he wasn’t in the same room with her as long as he was somewhere about…

  It was just on two o’clock when Freddie came in, and she had to hide both her relief and her anxiety for she wanted to say, ‘Where have you been? What’s kept you? You weren’t in for dinner,’ almost like a nagging wife might. What she said was, ‘Hello, my dear. Have you had a busy morning?’

  ‘Busy morning.’ He sat down on the edge of the couch, her hand tight in his. ‘You wouldn’t believe it. It must be almost two hours ago when I left to come home when Hooper came dashing after me. You know the cottage that became vacant on the road out and we had it spruced up ready for the people going in tomorrow? You wouldn’t believe it, but some of the scum from the lodging house settled themselves in there, fourteen of them and it’s only got two little bedrooms and a sitting room and a kitchen and the attic in the roof. Four kids, four women, and six men, thieves and vagabonds the lot of them. Anyway, I didn’t want to get the pollis at them again as the bairns would have landed up in the workhouse and the rest in the House of Correction, where they’ll surely land in any case. I threatened to burn them out if they didn’t open up—they had barred the doors inside. Now the people can’t move in tomorrow. It’ll take another couple of days to get rid of the filth they’ve left. You wouldn’t credit it. Animals are cleaner. Anyway, that’s today finished, at least the working part. How are you?’

  ‘Feeling much better; so much better when you’re here, but…’

  ‘But what?’ He took her other hand. ‘What’s worrying you?’

  ‘Oh, I can’t really explain, but I seem to be waiting for them to make some move, because they will make some move won’t they, Freddie? I feel any minute that there’ll be a visit from her solicitor or one of her influential friends. You know, she was always talking about the influential friends, but for the time I was there, I know it wasn’t very long, but there never was one caller. And…and Marcel only ever had that one friend, Harry Benson; at least, I thought of him as that, not as a guard. I couldn’t have known that.’

  ‘Well, my dear, it doesn’t matter; they can do nothing further to you. You’re not to think about any of them again. Now that’s an order from the boss, as Mrs Musgrave would say, that upstart, big-headed individual who happens to be her son.’

  ‘She’s a wonderful woman, your mother, Freddie, and you know, you’ve been very fortunate, you’ve had two wonderful women in your life.’

  ‘Yes’—he answered her solemnly—‘you’re right there. I’ve had two wonderful women in my life. And you know, I’ve still got two wonderful women in my life.’

  When she looked at him softly, he said, ‘But tell me, how is the second wonderful woman getting on with the new maid?’

  ‘Oh, I think it will work out. I told her not so long ago that Mary needed a mother…needed mothering, and I think that touched the right chord. You know, some women are made to do mothering whether they are married or not. But strangely, Maggie wasn’t. She was the auntie, but she could have been the sister. She wasn’t a mother to you, was she? What was she really to you, Freddie?’

  He bowed his head and looked to the side. He couldn’t say to her, she was my first love. It was a love that superseded the natural love for my mother or a man’s love such as I have for you. It was a love that we both recognised but daren’t put a name to, because we didn’t know a name that would fit it. And so, looking at her again, he answered simply, saying, ‘I can�
��t put a name to the feeling I had for Maggie because I owe all I am to her.’

  There was a tap on the door, and Mary entered, pushing a trolley on which were set tea things and, on the lower shelf, a standing meat pie cut into slices, bread and butter, scones, and a ginger cake. And when, looking at Belle, she said, ‘Will I pour, madam?’ Freddie answered her, ‘No, I’ll see to it, Mary,’ and she replied, ‘Very good, sir,’ dipped her knee and went out.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ Belle now asked softly, as she watched Freddie pouring the tea. And shaking his head he said, ‘Sir, madam, and a bobbing knee, it takes some getting used to. She set my breakfast in the dining room this morning. I wanted to say to her, “Lass, I always have it in the kitchen. And sit yourself down with me.” But somehow I knew that would embarrass her. On the other hand, though, she wasn’t a bit embarrassed to sit down with me ma. But then nobody could be embarrassed with me ma.’…

  The tea over, they chatted and then Freddie said, ‘I’m going upstairs to have a good wash and a shave. Now I can no longer do it in the kitchen, that puts me out a bit, you know.’ He pulled a face at her. ‘This arrangement has its drawbacks.’

  As he was about to turn away, she said, ‘You don’t speak of what you have yet to face in Newcastle,’ and he, pausing a moment, said, ‘There’s a saying, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”’

  ‘What if things go against you, Freddie? I wouldn’t be able to…’

  ‘I’m not going to stand here and listen to that sort of thinking, madam. Nothing is going to go against me. My life has changed, you’re in it, so nothing can go wrong.’ He smiled at her, then went out.

  Fifteen minutes later, as he was putting on Maggie’s last present to him, a smoking jacket, he heard a scream, followed by another. Before the second one had echoed away he was taking the stairs two at a time. But when he burst through the open door and into the sitting room it was to come to a skidding stop, for there, standing at the head of the couch, a gun in his hand, was Marcel Birkstead.

  Freddie stood as if he had suddenly become embalmed, unable to move or speak for a moment, so great was his fear of that gun pointing at Belle’s head. Then Birkstead spoke, or growled out, ‘I’ve come for my wife. If she comes with me she may live, if she stays she’ll be dead. It’s up to you.’

  Freddie had to lever his tongue backwards and forwards over the roof of his mouth before he could say, ‘If you shoot her, that’ll be murder and you’ll die too.’

  He had hardly finished the word when Birkstead said, ‘Well, there won’t just be two of us there’ll be three because I’ll see that you go before me. Oh, yes, I’ll see to that. There are six bullets in this gun; I can afford to miss three times when dealing with you.’

  As if staring at a snake, Freddie’s eyes were fixed on the gun. Six bullets. He had heard about a revolver that didn’t need reloading. A Colt it was called, first used in America. But he imagined it being only a tall tale, a sailor bragging about the wonders of the New World.

  The cry came from Belle now: her head was being pushed into the corner of the couch by Birkstead’s other hand. ‘I’ll go, Freddie, I’ll go. Just…just let me go.’

  ‘You’ll not go, not with this madman who should never have been let out of that asylum…’

  It seemed for a moment that the world had exploded in the side of Freddie’s head. As he staggered he put his hand up to his ear and his hot blood gushed over it. Mingled with the sounds of the explosion there was Belle’s scream, and as his right hand moved out for support against the table to his side his fingers touched the cherub.

  The cherub was a foot-high lead statuette. The fat arms of the boy were extended upwards to support a shallow dish above his head. He had often wondered why Maggie liked it so much because, to his eye, there was no beauty about it; being made of lead, the colour was a dirty grey. And he had recalled the time she had gone for him when he had used it as a doorstop.

  It could be that the movement his body made in throwing it saved him from the next bullet which struck the glass cabinet behind him sending glass and china spraying the corner of the room.

  The cherub caught Birkstead on the shoulder, and as his body swayed and the gun dropped from his hand, Freddie leaped over the distance; and then they were grappling together. The blood was spreading into his mouth and almost choking him, but he aimed to get his hands around Birkstead’s throat. Birkstead, however, was a strongly built man and his strength was increased with his madness. One moment Freddie was gripping his neck, the next he himself was almost stunned as he hit the wall to the side of the fireplace. But only for a second, for with his fist he caught Birkstead on the chin. The blow seemed to halt him for a moment. Then Freddie was grappling with him again, but with a difference now, for although Birkstead’s arms were about him, there was no response from them. But the dead weight of the man brought them both to the floor by the side of the fireplace. And there they lay perfectly still, both now covered in blood.

  Belle was moaning, and it was as she dragged herself from the couch that Mary came scampering up the room, crying, ‘Oh, madam! Are you all right? Oh my God!’ She looked at the two prone figures on the floor, then said, ‘Has he…has he killed him?’ She did not make it clear who had killed whom, but gabbled on, ‘Oh dear! When I first saw him I sent Roy for the pollis and Mr John. Oh, miss, you’ll fall.’

  Belle now pushed Mary away and lowered herself painfully onto her knees at the side of Freddie. He was lying with his shoulders on the rim of the steel fender. His head was hanging slightly to one side and the hand of one outstretched arm was cupping Birkstead’s shoulder as if in the act of patting it.

  ‘Freddie! Freddie! Please.’ Inwardly squirming as she was at the nearness of Birkstead, she went to put her arms about Freddie when he opened his eyes, blinked twice and made an effort to move. His left hand covering his lacerated ear, he made as if to withdraw his other arm from the twisted position in which it was lying. But at this he let out a low groan, and Mary said, ‘He’s hurt it, miss, his arm. Let’s get him round on the mat.’ And it was she who now put her sturdy arms around Freddie and eased him, amid his groans, onto the rug. And there, pulling a cushion from the couch, she put it under his head while saying, ‘We’d better do something, madam, to try and stop the bleeding.’

  Belle had already thought of that, for she had taken off her shoulder shawl and formed it into a soft wool pad. And now she gently pressed it onto the lacerated flesh, yet cringed as she did so. Then turning to Mary, she said, ‘The little tablecloth, bring it here.’

  Mary ripped off the fancy cloth from the side table and then, folding it into four, tied it round Freddie’s head in an endeavour to keep the pad in place. Another time he would have looked laughable, like a child with the toothache.

  ‘Get Ma…and John.’

  ‘It’s all right, dear, it’s all right. Mary’s seen to that. Are you…you all right?’ She knew it was a silly question to ask because he wasn’t all right, there was something wrong with his arm. Thinking that she might ease it back by laying it gently across his stomach, she went to do this, but a cry through his clenched teeth checked her and he said, ‘Leave it. Leave it.’ Then his eyes wide now he looked at the prostrate figure lying against the end of the fender. The cloak that Birkstead had worn was lying in a crumpled heap to the side of him, and the bottom of his face and his white cravat shirt and jacket were saturated with blood.

  Following his gaze, Mary said, ‘Will I straighten him, sir?’

  ‘No, no, leave him till they come.’

  It then seemed to all three of them that no-one came for hours. But John was there within ten minutes, the police within fifteen, and Jinny and the doctor arrived almost at the same time.

  It was the policeman who, after looking at the position of Birkstead’s head, said, ‘Better leave him till the doctor comes.’

  A minute later, the doctor raised Birkstead’s head from the fender, then felt for the beat of his h
eart. He looked up first at the policeman, then at Freddie who was now seated at the end of the couch, and he said quietly, ‘He’s dead.’ Then he pointed down to the three spikes that protruded from the steel rim. They were of practical use: the middle one was the largest; it was used for holding the two foot steel tongs in place; the other two supported a steel shovel and a hearth brush. The doctor pointed to the middle spike, saying flatly, ‘It seems to have penetrated his jugular vein.’

  They all became quiet until the policeman appeared about to question Freddie, only to be interrupted by the doctor, saying, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for that, constable. I must get this man to the surgery, or most likely to the hospital if we want to save any part of his ear. And then his arm that’s apparently broken in more places than one.’ And nodding at Freddie now, he said, ‘You’re a very lucky man, another fraction and that bullet would have done its job.’ He pointed down the room now to the wall, saying to the policeman, ‘Don’t touch anything there. Nor that.’ He was now pointing to the gun on the table. ‘A lot of people are going to be interested in that, for more reasons than one.’

  ‘What about the body, sir?’ The officer was asking now, and the doctor replied, ‘Well, that’s up your street, isn’t it? It’ll have to go to the prison mortuary. But your inspector will have to see it first. Then of course you’ll have to inform his people. But you, sir,’ he addressed Freddie now; ‘do you think you’re able to make your way to my carriage?’

  At the moment Freddie didn’t feel he could make his way anywhere. He wasn’t in any pain, not from his ear or his arm, but a great weakness was enveloping him. He was aware that his mother was standing to the side of him and he had a great desire to lay his head against her waist because life seemed to be draining from him and he wanted her sturdy support. He knew that Belle was on the other side of him, but it wasn’t to her he put out his hand, but to Jinny. And when she clasped it she said brokenly, ‘Oh, lad; you are an unlucky swine, aren’t you?’