The Wingless Bird Page 14

  He leant towards her and again he took her hand, saying now, ‘Because I want you to. Go on. Your father hit him…with what?’

  ‘A coal shovel.’

  ‘A…a coal shovel?’

  ‘A big coal shovel. Yes. He threw an iron coal shovel at him and it caught him on the head. It could have killed him. And yet the boy, or the young man as he is, could have felled Father to the ground, because he looks very strong. All the Felton men are strong, they’re known as fighters. But apparently he, according to Jessie, wants a different kind of life. I…I really thought Father had killed him. He had caught them in the yard, you know, where you saw me the other evening. And when he dragged her away I was left with the young fellow. He was covered with blood. I was in a panic, but eventually I got him to the hospital. Then I had to go and find his people. It was then I met them, the four men and his mother.’ She half-smiled now. ‘And she is an enormous woman and strong, both physically and mentally, I would say. She rules the men.’

  He stared at her for a long moment; then shaking his head, he said, ‘You really think they care for each other, sincerely care?’

  ‘Oh yes; yes I do. Jessie is young. She is only eighteen, well, nineteen next month, but she is sensible and…and Father had always adored her. There has only ever been Jessie for him. I am useful to him in the business but of no account really.’

  ‘Oh no! I wouldn’t believe that…he’s bound to…’

  ‘You can believe it, and the same applies to Mother. There’s been very little affection between Mother and me. But Jessie and I were close. Oh dear me!’ She went to turn from him, but he held on to her hand. ‘Why am I burdening you with all our family affairs? It’s outrageous. It’s ridiculous!’

  ‘It’s not ridiculous. Agnes—see, I mean to call you by your name—listen to me. I’m interested in everything you’ve got to say and I want to know all about you, more about you and about your family. I…I would like to think that we could…well, be friends.’

  As she looked back into his eyes there was that voice in the back of her head telling her to calm down, not to let her heart thump as it was doing, for he would surely notice her agitation. He was now saying something very surprising: ‘And as a friend, may I say, why don’t they get married on the quiet, go off some place where your father can’t get at them? They could do it by special licence.’

  ‘Special licence?’ This was something new. She had only faintly heard of special licence, in fact she knew nothing about the procedure attending weddings; she had never even been a guest at a wedding. She said again, ‘Special licence?’

  ‘Yes. That can be arranged and got through within the matter of a week or so. But then there’s her age…she’d have to have her parents’ consent.’

  She stared at him; then she said, ‘I…I cannot imagine what Father would do, even say, if he were asked for that.’

  ‘Well, there’s no reason why he should be asked. It simply requires two names on a form. Desperate deeds need desperate measures.’ Again they were staring at each other, and her eyes widened as she took in his meaning. And then he said, ‘He couldn’t do anything if they were legally married. And of course there’s always Gretna Green.’

  ‘Gretna Green!’ She shook her head. ‘You don’t know Father. I just dare not contemplate his reactions. I think, yes, I really do think he’d be quite capable of killing someone.’

  ‘Well, if he did he would suffer for it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘And if he suffered, a lot of other people would suffer too, because Jessie would never forgive herself, nor could I forgive myself if he did someone an injury, that is if I had been the means of causing it in the first place.’

  ‘But you couldn’t be the means of causing it; it’s your sister who caused this trouble. But there it is.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘These kinds of things happen in all families.’ He laughed now. ‘There was a scandal in Father’s young days; it’s not even alluded to now. His cousin Nicola ran off with a groom and they really couldn’t do much about it because the lady in question was twenty-nine years old; besides which, everyone thought she was past marriage. And then she was rather plain, too, so I understand. You see, she was missed by the family, but for an entirely different reason from her personality. She had apparently been handmaiden to her supposedly ill mother since she was a girl. The rest of the family had been married off and she had been left with Lady Wright. And what did Lady Wright’s husband do?’ He put back his head and laughed again. ‘He rushed to Ireland, where the couple had flown and, to his horror, he found them living in one of the typical little Irish bothies. But would she come home for him? No, not for love of him or for her mother or for the family who were smarting under the disgrace and the laughter of “kind” friends. They were all army people too. Our family seems to favour either the army or the Church. One side goes out to kill and the other prays for their souls. And later, they received a further smack in the face when some wise old girl, a branch of the family with an estate out there in Ireland, left the whole bang shoot to Nicola. I suppose Nicola must have had some contact with the old girl. Oh, you can imagine the reactions at this end. And the funny part about it is, the two of them fell into that estate as if they had been born to it. Anyway, having worked for twenty years under the so-called gentry’—he made a face at her now—‘he could ape their ways, and he did. And now I’ve got eight Irish half-cousins, and some in very high places and doing well. So what I’m trying to say to you is that your dear sister and her rough Geordie lad, as he appears to be, have every chance of coming out on top.’

  ‘We have no relations who own estates, and Robbie Felton has not had the opportunity of mixing with the gentry.’ Her tone was flat, her face was straight.

  He turned his head away and sighed before he said, ‘I seem to have the knack of saying the wrong thing, at least to you. I’m only trying to point out that it really doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does matter.’ She had risen sharply to her feet now, and he too. ‘There is as much distance between Robbie Felton’s way of life and ours as there is between mine and yours.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’ His voice was quiet but stiff. ‘Don’t ever say that. You are a lady. In yourself you are; you didn’t need to have clothes like this’—he flicked his fingers towards her coat—‘to tell me what you were.’

  Her lips were trembling as she said, ‘I am the daughter of a shopkeeper, a small shopkeeper, owner of a small tobacconist’s, a small sweetshop and an equally small place called a factory. I have no ancestry I can call up, except a great-grandmother who made toffee in her kitchen and sold it at her back door. So, if you’ll excuse me, Mr Farrier.’

  ‘I won’t excuse you, Miss Conway.’ He stressed her name. ‘Come on. Take that look off your face and I’ll tell you what I’m going to do some day. It’s a pity we’re meeting Reg this afternoon, there won’t be time, but one day I’ll take you to meet a friend of mine. He’s a very intelligent man, has a son not so intelligent and a grandson who takes after himself, and very likely you, Miss Conway, if you believe in class distinctions, would look down your nose at him, because he is a Durham miner, as is his son and his grandson, and they live not ten minutes’ walk away from where we are now. I would class John among my best friends, if not my best friend, because wisdom doesn’t come with education or money or ancestry. Oh, I’d say not.’

  She stared at him, unsmiling. He had friends among the miners and he imagined he had now taken up with another friend who served in a sweetshop and whom, out of his kindness, he dubbed a lady. He was obviously one of those men who was stepping out of his own class, whether it be through conscience, or because he was a radical, or simply that it helped him in his writing, that was all.

  No matter what the reason, she felt herself overcome with a deep sadness as if from a loss, the loss of someone other than a friend. But thank God, it had only been in her mind, for she had given him no sign of the feelings he had evoked in her. So, whatever she
did she must hide her painful discovery.

  Now she forced herself to smile as she said lightly, ‘Well, don’t brag about knowing pitmen. I know one or two pitmen too. But I know more dockers, warehouse men and sailors. I’ve had them all through my hands.’

  There was a slight look of surprise on his face at her tone and the turn the conversation had taken. But matching her mood, he said, ‘I knew from the beginning you were a woman of experience.’ Then on a laugh, he took her elbow and turned her about, saying now, ‘Come along; we must go and meet Reg, because my brother is the kind of person who waits for no man. He’ll wait for a lady, oh yes, but for no man. But this is not quite right. He is forced to give way to the major and the colonel, for he is at present only a mere captain.’ He added quietly now, ‘But you will like Reg. He’s very special.’ Then bending forward and slightly in front of her as he walked, he said with emphasis, ‘He’s another friend of mine.’

  They laughed together now as they crossed the bridge; then he led her over the road and up the hill towards the Cathedral because, as he said, he was supposed to be in there and that’s where his brother would be waiting.

  Agnes saw Reginald Farrier before he saw her. He was standing across the open space and some way from the main door of the Cathedral, but with his back to it, looking upwards. The sun was glinting on the badge of his cap and on the buttons, even on the pips on the epaulettes on his shoulder and on the badges on each of his lapels. The peak of his cap was part shading his eyes, but the rest of his face seemed to have caught the brightness of the accoutrements on his uniform.

  As they approached, Charles called, ‘It’s too early for star-gazing,’ and his brother turned towards them, and the next moment Charles was saying, ‘This is my brother Reginald, and this, Reg, is Miss Agnes Conway.’

  ‘How do you do?’

  He was shaking her hand and smiling at her, and she saw that he wasn’t unlike Charles, although she supposed it could be said he was much more handsome. His looks were more blatant: his nose was larger and straight; he had a slight moustache above a wide full-lipped mouth; his chin too was prominent. It was the eyes, however, that made the face: they were a dark brown, a shining, laughing brown, at least at the moment they were. But she felt immediately that the whole expression was a pose put on for women…ladies, for now he was saying, ‘I’m delighted to meet you. Charles has told me all about you.’

  ‘I certainly have not, because I myself don’t know all about Miss Conway. The little I know is she is very reticent, at least about herself.’ He turned now to Agnes as they were walking away from the Cathedral, saying, ‘Don’t let him charm you. He’s got an unfair advantage over all other males, myself included. And only believe half what he says, and then tell yourself even that is open to dissection.’

  ‘He talks like he writes, Miss Conway.’

  And so it went on, even after they were seated at a tea table in the County Hotel. And it was as she poured out the tea that Charles said, ‘Reg, will you stop talking; Miss Conway has hardly been able to get a word in.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Miss Conway.’

  As she handed him the cup of tea she said, ‘Oh, please, don’t be sorry, because I’ve learned a lot about you during the last half-hour.’

  The smile slid from his face; he looked hard at her.

  ‘And what is your finding, may I ask?’

  She laughed; and then handed Charles his cup of tea before saying, ‘Oh, just that you are a soldier and a captain and you wear a very smart uniform and your Sam Browne belt is impeccable, and I wondered who cleaned your buttons this morning.’

  There was almost a splutter from Charles as he placed his cup back on the saucer. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his lips, saying, ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ Then, his eyes dancing, he looked at his brother and said, ‘You didn’t expect that, did you? Who did clean your buttons this morning?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easily answered.’ Reg jerked his chin upwards. ‘My batman did, Peter Jenkins. He’s a very good chap, a very good soldier.’ Then pushing his face towards Agnes’, he said, ‘You’d like to tell me that I should clean my own buttons, wouldn’t you, Miss Conway?’

  ‘No. No, not at all, for the simple reason you’d make a mess of them.’

  ‘Now, there you are quite wrong.’ He was wagging his finger at her now. ‘Our father’—he nodded towards Charles—‘who was an army man, and who is still an army man, he made us clean our boots, all kinds of boots, riding boots, best boots, the lot, didn’t he, Charles?’

  Charles turned his head away, pulled the corner of his mouth upwards, then cast a sly glance back at his brother as he said, ‘Yes, when Rosie didn’t do them for you; or Peter.’ He looked at Agnes now as he explained, ‘Rosie Pratt used to work in the kitchen before she became housemaid, and she married Peter. He was a stableman. They are both with us still. And you’—he turned to his brother—‘used to promise Rosie a penny, remember? And when you didn’t stump up I had to pay for both of us. Clean your own boots? You would never do anything for yourself if you could get off with it.’

  Again Reg was leaning towards her, and his voice held a mimicking note of command now as he said, ‘I hope you realise what you have done, Miss Conway. You have divided this family. My brother, who has always been on my side, has turned against me.’ Then his voice altering again and a half smile on his face, he slanted his gaze at her as he said, ‘Are you a suffragette?’

  ‘No. No, I’m not a suffragette. I haven’t the nerve or the enthusiasm, nor yet the courage to stand up for my sex. Yet’—she looked from one to the other—‘that is not quite true; I do everything to promote my own sex, but in an underhand way because you really achieve nothing if you are open and above board when dealing with men. What I mean is’—she waved her hand from one to the other—‘in business, of course.’

  The two men exchanged glances, then started to laugh; and after an embarrassed moment when she realised what her words had implied, she let her laughter join theirs.

  Over an hour later, when the three of them stood in Newcastle Central Station, and Reginald Farrier was shaking Agnes’ hand slowly and looking into her face, he said, ‘Being a sceptical young lady, you won’t believe me when I say this has been as pleasant an afternoon as I’ve spent for a long time, and I would hope we may repeat it some time, and not in the far future.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Farrier; and you mightn’t believe it either, but I too have enjoyed this afternoon, because—’ her voice dropped now as she ended, ‘for a short time I have stepped into another world. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  He said no more but watched Charles take her elbow and escort her to the cab rank. What a strange girl. I have stepped into another world, she said…

  ‘Look, it’s a fine evening, I can walk.’

  ‘You must forgive me for saying so, but I don’t think you should walk alone, looking as you do, Miss Conway. You could attract both the right and the wrong types, you know.’

  ‘You mightn’t believe it, Mr Farrier,’ she stressed his name too, ‘but I am quite capable of taking care of myself.’

  ‘I won’t argue with you, except to say, you might think so, but there we agree to differ. Now, when may I see you again?’

  ‘Oh, please!’—she shook her head—‘it’s been the most interesting and enjoyable afternoon, but let it rest there.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want me to start explaining again, do you, and in this spot?’ She looked about her. ‘It was all said on the seat by the river.’

  ‘It certainly wasn’t.’

  ‘Cab, sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ He opened the cab door, saying now in a low voice, ‘I shall call on you soon.’ And to this she said hastily, ‘No; please don’t. The way things are at home…Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye for the present.’ He pressed her into the cab, closed the door, then stood back on the kerb. But he did not wave to her; nor did she
make any sign.

  When he returned to the platform Reginald looked at him and said, ‘Now you’re going to say what do you think?’ But Charles cut him off sharply, saying, ‘No, I wasn’t, Reg. Oh, no I wasn’t. It doesn’t matter what anybody thinks about her, it’s what I think.’

  ‘It’s as bad as that?’ They were walking out of the station now.

  ‘Yes, as bad as that. I mean, as good as that.’

  ‘You know what this means, don’t you, laddie?’

  ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘They are broad, you know they are, but not as broad as that. Now, now’—he raised his hand—‘she could pass any test I’m sure, but a little shopkeeper. It should happen that I know the shop. Been past it a number of times on my way down to the quay. Father at a pinch might condone it, but you know Mother. She’s a sweet dear creature, none better, but…well, you know the situation. Anyway, I wish you luck. But you’ve got a battle on your hands. And I know, too, I’ve got a battle on my hands, two battles, you could say, and the harder one isn’t going to be abroad but here in Newcastle. Damn women! Why do they cling? They’re like leeches. And you remember that, laddie.’

  ‘Yes, Reg, I’ll remember that, and I only wish, in my case, I find it’s true.’

  ‘Oh, hell’s bells! Charlie; go steady or you’ll find yourself in the soup. Now look, take my word for it, nothing lasts, especially what’s hit you now. It can’t. The very law of nature makes it burn itself out. Even forest fires die. Come on! Let’s get home. Better take a cab. I’ll have to say my goodbyes, then hie for Colchester or the regiment will have gone to pieces without me. Funny about that, you know, Charlie, but I never feel really happy unless I’m among them, the men, tough, rough, bawdy lot. And they like me. Yes, they do.’ He now pushed at Charles and they were both laughing loudly as they got into the cab. But behind the laughter Reginald was remembering it was but a short while ago he had dwelt on the fact that they were three brothers who were, in a way, incapable of real and lasting love.