The Wingless Bird Page 18

  ‘A gun!’

  It was the big man who spoke, and he looked towards his brothers and repeated, ‘A gun?’

  ‘Bloody maniac, if you ask me, that man. What does he expect to do? Shoot the pair of them?’

  ‘Have…have they gone?’

  They nodded; and the daughter said, ‘Aye; they got a train straight away. It all went off well, it did. And they’ll be all right.’

  Her agitation in no way lessened by this information, Agnes said, ‘Yes, yes; I have no doubt, but my father, he is…he is beside himself and he must have the idea that they’ll still be here,’ and she wagged her hand towards the table on which stood a whisky bottle and two beer bottles besides numerous glasses and empty plates and she finished, ‘celebrating.’

  ‘Some celebratin’. I’ve seen better after a funeral or a pie and peas supper.’

  ‘Shut yer gob, you, Willie.’ Mrs Felton glared at her son before stepping towards Agnes and asking, ‘You think he’s that bad, your da? He would use it, a gun?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yet I think he’d be capable of doing anything to get her back.’

  Her hand went to her head and this prompted the big fellow to say, ‘Sit down. Sit down. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘No. No, thank you, but I think you should lock the door and…’

  ‘Oh, we’re lockin’ no bloody doors here.’ The big man was now shaking his head and looking towards his brothers. ‘What say you?’ And one of them answered, ‘No, we’re locking no bloody doors. What I say is, let him come in. We’ll be ready for him. He’s an old bloke. One good punch and he could be down.’

  ‘And one good punch an’ you’ll be down, Jimmy Felton.’ His mother was practically attacking him. ‘You’ve got to get near a fellow afore you can knock him down. And if he’s got a gun in his hand it’ll be you who’ll go down first, or one of us. Use your bloody loaf or what’s left of it, ’cos the way you talk at times it’s as if a few slices had been shived off.’

  ‘Let up, Ma. Let up. Look, miss.’ It was the one called Willie who was speaking to her now, and he said, ‘How long is it since he left the house?’

  ‘Just a few minutes before I did.’

  ‘And you’ve come by cab?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’

  ‘Aye, well, that’s likely what he’ll come by an’ all.’

  ‘But if he doesn’t know the address?’

  ‘Jimmy,’ said the man quietly now, ‘he’s just got to ask any cabby, hasn’t he? In fact the whole bloody militia knows where we live, an’ the Durham Light Infantry an’ all, I wouldn’t be surprised. An’ the bloody pollis. Oh, aye, the pollis.’

  ‘Don’t try to be funny, wor Willie. This thing might turn out to be anythin’ but a laughin’ business. An’ you, wor Rosie, I’d get meself away home.’

  ‘Aye, Mike, I think I will.’

  The girl rose from the table, saying, ‘Ta-ra, Ma. See you later.’

  ‘Ta-ra, lass,’ her mother answered, and then looked at Agnes, adding, ‘And I’d be on your way if I were you, lass, an’ all. You’ve done your best, an’ we thank you.’

  As Agnes was about to speak the man Jimmy, who apparently couldn’t keep his tongue still, said, ‘We’re sort of related now, aren’t we, miss? Brother an’ sister-in-law. Is that it?’

  Any retort that might have been forthcoming from any of them was silenced by a cry from the young woman, who burst back into the room saying, ‘There’s a man. He’s got out of a cab; he’s just come in the gate. He…he looks mad.’

  ‘Stay where you are! Stay still.’ Betty Felton had taken command. Pointing in turn at each of them, she cried, ‘You, Mike, over in that corner. You, Willie, in that. Jimmy, get behind me. Scat, Rosie! And you, lass…’ But before she could give directions to Agnes there appeared in the doorway the enraged figure of Arthur Conway, a pointing gun in his hand.

  Agnes was standing as if alone at one end of the fireplace, an arm’s length away from Mrs Felton. And as she stared open-mouthed at her father it appeared to her he had grown to twice his size. His face was a bluey purple, his lips were wet, and there was saliva running down one side of his mouth. She watched his eyes move without any movement of his head as he surveyed the men positioned around the room, and her voice issued in a whimper as she said, ‘Father, they are not here. They’ve…they’ve gone. Please. Please try to understand.’

  His gaze returned to her; his mouth opened wide, his lips moving upwards from his teeth as if in amazement, and he said, ‘You! You, of all people. You knew. You’ve manoeuvred this. No. No, not you.’

  ‘Father. L…let me talk to you. Try…try to understand.’

  ‘Understand?’ His voice seemed to be torn up from the depths of him. ‘You’ve known all along. You’ve—’ His head wagged now, and his hand holding the gun waved it from side to side. ‘You’re the only one I trusted and…and because I trusted you I saw that you’d be all right. You!’ His voice suddenly rose almost to a screech, and Mike said quickly but quietly, ‘Put that gun away, mister, an’ then we’ll talk.’

  When the bullet whizzed past his head and shattered the glass of a picture on the wall, Rosie and her mother screamed and the men yelled out oaths and in the midst of the confusion Agnes took a step forward, crying, ‘Father! Father! For God’s sake!’ Then the gun swung in her direction, and as Mrs Felton’s arm came out and grabbed her, Agnes screamed, before becoming perfectly still as she looked at the blood streaming through her dress from the top of her shoulder; and she was unaware of the concerted rush of the men and of her father being weighed down to the floor, and of Rosie flying from the house, shouting, ‘Pollis! Pollis!’

  Odd, but she was feeling quiet inside; she was sliding down somewhere.

  ‘Oh my God! Her arm. But it could ’ave been her head. It could ’ave been her head.’

  ‘Here. Here. You’re goin’ to be all right. Don’t pass out. Here, drink this.’

  For the second time in that kitchen whisky was poured down her throat; then she was surprised to hear one of the men standing by her, saying, ‘Hankies are no good. Strip a sheet, Ma, or a pillowslip.’

  She sat quietly on the chair letting them do things to her arm, and she looked at her father sprawled on the mat. He was making no movement, none whatever. She felt something should be done for him but she found she couldn’t speak.

  One of the men was saying, ‘Was that our Rosie shouting for the bloody pollis?’

  ‘Well, the pollis’ll have to come, won’t they? That maniac had a gun. Your head nearly went, Mike; an this lass’ an’ all if it hadn’t been for me ma pullin’ her.’

  ‘How’s her arm?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s still bleedin’. I tied it up tight. Those bloody doctors are never about when they’re wanted, either.’

  How long had she been sitting here? She had the sudden and unusual feeling that she wanted to laugh.

  ‘What’s she sayin’, Ma?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think she’s in sort of a shock. An’ no wonder. Eeh; my God! If I hadn’t pulled her. It was a split second else it would have gone straight through her throat. God Almighty! Here’s the pollis. He would come afore the doctor, wouldn’t he?’

  Agnes watched the men pointing out the gun to the policeman. She watched the policeman now bending over her father. Her father didn’t look right; he needed help. She lifted her hand and the big woman said, ‘What is it, lass?’

  ‘Father, he’s…he’s not well.’

  ‘No, lass, he’s not well; an’ neither are you. But you’re not dead, an’ you haven’t got him to thank for that. Don’t you worry your head ’bout him; I know where he’s headin’ for.’

  She wanted to go home. It was all over. She wanted her mother. Funny that, that she should want her mother so much. But then she remembered they had sat in the café together, and her mother had talked and opened her eyes to a life of frustration and bitterness and lack of love from all sides.

  She was tired; she didn�
�t want to think.

  A strange voice was talking to her now, a man’s voice. It was saying, ‘You’ll be all right. You’ll be all right. It hasn’t reached the bone.’ Then the man was talking to someone else: ‘She’s in shock. She’ll have to go to hospital.’

  ‘What about him?’ somebody said.

  ‘He too. He’s had a stroke.’

  ‘A stroke?’

  ‘Yes, a stroke. That’s what I said.’

  Her father had had a stroke. That’s why he was lying like that and his face all twisted up. Well, he wouldn’t be able to chase them now.

  ‘I gave her a good dose of whisky, doctor.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Why not? It cures most things.’

  ‘Aye, and it kills a few too.’

  ‘He nearly killed my lad. Look at that picture there.’

  ‘I don’t think a mere bullet could kill any of your lads, Betty. It would stot off them. Anyway, what’s this all about?’

  ‘Oh, just because my lad, the youngest, has run off with his daughter, his youngest.’

  ‘Oh. Oh. Then I can see why he wanted to shoot you all.’

  ‘You’re the one for your joke, doctor. But I can tell you this, it has given me the skitters.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it has, Betty; but it hasn’t put the fear of God into you, has it? And that’s a pity.’

  What were they talking about? Why was she here? Her father had had a stroke; they were carrying him out now on a stretcher and somebody was lifting her up in their arms, a man. Was it Charles? No, no. Charles would never lift her up in his arms. Would her father die? She hoped so, otherwise they would send him to prison, and she couldn’t bear that.

  PART FOUR

  Into the Light

  One

  ‘There! That’s the last blind up and I’m getting out of this black this very day. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.’

  ‘Sit down, Mother.’

  ‘He was spiteful; I always knew it under that hail-fellow-well-met attitude. He was a mean man but I never thought he’d go to these lengths.’

  ‘Mother. Mother. Please, come and sit down.’

  Slowly Alice came to the couch and sat down, but her body was stiff, her hands tight-gripped on her knees, and Agnes, half turning, put out her left hand, her right arm being in a sling, and caught her mother’s wrist, saying, ‘It’ll be all right. I’ve told you, it’ll be all right. I’ll see to it.’

  Alice turned and looked at her daughter, and her lips trembled as she said, ‘If…if you weren’t the type of person that you are, Aggie, I could be out on the street this minute. Do you realise that?’

  ‘No, you couldn’t; you could have claimed.’

  ‘With what? What would I have to engage a solicitor with to take matters further, and where would I have been in the meantime? Who’ve I got? Who’ve I got? Dear Mary, and you’ve seen her. And I know when he altered his will. Yes, yes, I know. It was the night we had the last row, when I said he was old and he would die. And oh, how I wished him dead so many times. And I’m not a hypocrite, I’m glad he’s gone. Anyway, after what he tried to do he’d be gone in one way or another. My God! When you think he could have killed you, and he would have, because if he trusted anybody he trusted you. You see, he knew he couldn’t do without you in the business, and because you had turned down both Pete and Henry he could see you as an old maid and tied to the shops. And to think’—she now beat one fist upon her knee—‘he had another two rows of houses in Jesmond that his father had left him. I knew nothing about them; in fact, I knew nothing about anything.’ She flung her arm wide, indicating the bureau: ‘He kept that bureau locked and the keys always on him. And what did he give me? Two outfits a year and the housekeeping. You, my dear, had a wage and Jessie had her pocket money; but I had the housekeeping, and I was stupid enough to spend it all on food. If I demanded money from him it was always for the house, curtains, covers, rugs, so I could have a change, a change of colour in this prison, because that’s what it’s been. Yes, yes’—she was nodding at Agnes now—‘it’s been a prison. And I even had to pay him for that by letting him into my bed after I came back again. Even when he had that other whore he still demanded payment. God! What a wasted life.’ She shook her head slowly now, then gave a rueful laugh as she added, ‘And I used to buoy myself thinking, he can’t last forever, he’s got a bad heart, and when he goes won’t I live! Oh, won’t I live! But he’s got the last laugh. That was a phrase of his, you know’—she turned again and looked at Agnes—‘he laughs best who laughs last.’

  ‘Mother, I’ve told you and I’ve told the solicitor, I’m going to settle a sum on you which will keep you comfortable for life. You can walk out of here tomorrow. You can buy yourself a house. You can do what you like. He’s got it in hand. Oh please, Mother, don’t.’

  As Alice’s head drooped onto her chest and the tears rolled down her face, Agnes put her arm around her shoulder and she said softly, ‘You’re free and you’re still young…well, what I mean is you could marry again, or you could travel or go on jaunts or…’

  Alice raised her head now and looked through her streaming eyes at her daughter as she said, ‘And where would I go on jaunts and who with, lass? I’ve only you, and you will marry. Oh, yes, you will. And I’d want you to; but someone you care for and not to do as I did just to give meself a home and a married name. You know, that’s what most of us marry for, because we haven’t got the pluck to face life without a man. You know, it makes one bitter when you think the harlots and the strumpets have the best of it.’ She gave a weak smile now as she dried her face and said, ‘And you know, half of us would join them if it wasn’t that we’re afraid of getting a bad name.’

  Agnes answered the smile with her own, saying, ‘Well, there’s time enough for both of us to get started.’

  ‘Oh, girl!’ Her mother pushed her gently now. ‘Don’t make me laugh, really, because if I started I would go into hysterics. But whatever happens, girl, there’s one thing I’ll say: I’m glad you and me found each other.’

  After a pause, Agnes said with deep sincerity, ‘And I too, Mother. Oh yes, and I too. And we’ll go on from here and who knows, we might both be driven to follow your last suggestion. Of course, we’d have to have a different house from this.’

  As their foreheads touched it was as if a contract was being signed between them. Then Alice, getting up quickly from the couch, said, ‘You know something, Agnes? I’ve never been hungry for days. Now what do you think that means? But I know what I want at this minute, and it’s a good strong cup of tea. How about you?’

  ‘Yes, Mother, that’ll be fine. But please don’t lace it; since she’s been back, I’m sure Maggie has laced every cup of tea she’s brought in.’

  ‘And her own, I bet, if I know anything about Maggie.’

  The ringing of the house-bell from the shop made Alice hurry to the kitchen and say to the woman standing at the sink, ‘Go down, Maggie, and see what they want.’

  Maggie Rice did not rush to obey her mistress’ command, but dried her hands slowly on the towel; then as she passed Alice she said to no-one in particular, ‘It’s bad luck to draw the blinds until a week after.’

  Alice made no reply, but just stared hard after Maggie as she lumbered out of the door; then she set about making the cup of tea. But she hadn’t got very far when Maggie returned at a quicker pace than that at which she had left; and she was hardly through the door when she said, ‘’Tis a gentleman, walking stick, high hat an’ all. He wants to see Miss Agnes, so Nan says. I had a peep from the storeroom door.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘She didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask her.’

  Alice hurried to the sitting room, and there she said, ‘There’s a man downstairs. Maggie says he’s a gentleman; but how she would know beats me, because every Tom, Dick and Harry carries a walking stick these days. Do you know anybody of that description who would want to see
you?’

  Agnes bit on the edge of her lip now before she said, ‘Yes, Mother. Would you mind bringing him up? His name will be Mr Charles Farrier, if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘All right, if you say so.’

  From the moment the door closed on her mother Agnes’ thoughts didn’t dwell on the impending visitor but on the difference that had taken place in that woman, that woman whom she had disliked for years. The very fact that she had disliked her and yet now she could say almost loved her, disturbed her, because it proved that one could be deceived by what one imagined to be a person’s character, when underneath there was someone entirely different from that presented by the outer shell.

  When her mother entered the room, saying, ‘There’s a gentleman to see you, Agnes,’ and Charles came into view, the sight of him again flicked her heart against her ribs.

  She gave him no word of greeting but tried to rise from the couch, and when his voice said, ‘Please. Please, don’t disturb yourself. May I sit down?’ and he looked from one to the other, it was Alice who said, ‘Yes, do, do. Can I get you a drink? We were just about to have a cup of tea. Would you like a cup?’

  ‘Yes, please. Thank you.’

  Alice left the room, leaving them sitting looking at each other; and still Agnes couldn’t speak, but he did and rapidly. ‘I’m…I’m so very sorry. I only heard about it this morning. You see I returned late last night. I’ve been to Colchester. I’m doing a little work there and of course I saw my brother too. It was Elaine who told me. She telephoned; she had read about it in the papers. Oh my dear, I feel it’s all my fault. If I’d never suggested that your sister should…’

  ‘Please. Please. It wasn’t your fault. It would have happened in any case. She…she would have gone to the young man; she was just waiting an opportunity. And my father would have followed them, killed one or the other of them wherever they were.’