The Tide of Life Read online

  He read the first seven verses. Then it was Mrs Goodyear’s turn. She started:

  ‘Then the word of the Lord came unto me, saying…’

  And she read up to verse thirteen.

  Now Mr Dunn took it up. His voice was deep and sonorous and seemed to shake the pictures on the walls as, with the book held well away from his face, he read:

  ‘Then shalt thou say unto them, Thus saith the Lord. “Behold, I will fill all the inhabitants of this land, even the kings that sit upon David’s throne, and the priests, and the prophets, and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem, with drunkenness.

  ‘“And I will dash them one against another, even the fathers and the sons together,” saith the Lord: “I will not pity, nor spare, nor have mercy, but destroy them.

  ‘Hear ye, and give ear; be not proud: for the Lord hath spoken.’

  Eeh! The words had aroused Emily somewhat, she had never heard anything like that spoken from the Bible before. Fill them with drunkenness. Well, well!

  But as the voices droned on her mind slumbered again until Mrs Hailey’s voice pricked her ears awake and brought her eyes wide as that lady cried:

  ‘“I have seen thine adulteries, and thy neighings, the lewdness of thy whoredom, and thine abominations on the hills in the fields. Woe unto thee, O Jerusalem! wilt thou not be made clean? When shall it once be?”’

  Eeh! Well, fancy all that in the Bible, whores an’ the rest. It made you wonder, didn’t it? …

  They were saying the final prayer now, all on their knees, except Mrs McGillby, whose head was bent forward, her chin buried in her chest.

  ‘O Lord, bringeth, if it is Thy will, health to our sister here bedridden, but if it is not Thy will we will take it that her suffering is by way of atonement for the sins of others, and the greater her pain the wider the forgiveness you will shower on us poor creatures here on the sinful earth. Look upon our prayers here tonight, O Lord, with favour, and bring us safely to the dawn of a new day which we will endeavour to spend in praise of thee. Glory be to God. Amen.’

  ‘Amen.’

  ‘Amen. Amen. Amen.’

  Silently now one by one the visitors shook Mrs McGillby’s hand, while unsmiling, she nodded at them one by one. Then they went down the stairs, preceded by Mr McGillby who stood at the front door and shook each one by the hand as he thanked them, as he did every Sunday night, for their kindness in coming to pray with his wife.

  But once the door was closed Emily noted, as she also did every Sunday night, that Mr McGillby heaved a great sigh as if he were glad it was all over. Tonight was no exception, except that his sigh seemed longer drawn out and his whole body seemed to slump; but perhaps it was the heat, it was affecting everybody …

  Sep McGillby now came towards the table where Emily was setting the cloth for his supper and said, ‘I haven’t had time to ask you, but did you have a nice day?’

  She paused a moment before answering, ‘Yes, but I didn’t go to the park, I took me sister to the sands.’

  ‘Aw, that was nice. It would be cool down there, she would like that. Is her cough better?’

  ‘It’s just about the same, Mr McGillby, thank you.’

  ‘You look tired, lass, leave that. Go an’ make the missis’ drink an’ take it up and I’ll see to meself later.’

  ‘Aw no, no, Mr McGillby, the missis wouldn’t like that.’

  He now put his hands on the corner of the table and leant over it towards her and said under his breath, ‘What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve over.’

  ‘Eeh! Mr McGillby.’ She bit on her lip, then smiled widely at him; and he smiled as widely back at her, saying, ‘Go on now and get a good night’s rest.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr McGillby, ta, I am tired. And…and can I tell you something?’

  ‘Anything you like, lass.’

  ‘I told that woman off the day, Alice Broughton. She had been hittin’ our Lucy and I told her I’d go to the pollis.’

  ‘Good for you, lass, good for you.’

  ‘And you know something else?’ She was now leaning towards him. ‘I docked her money.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Aye. I only tipped up a shilling.’

  ‘An’ you know something, lass?’

  ‘No, Mr McGillby.’

  ‘You tipped up a shilling too much. You have no need to be tipping up anything there, your dad’s provided; as you said he left his half-pay note.’

  ‘Aye, I know, but if I don’t give her something she’ll take it out of our Lucy.’

  ‘Aye, that would be the way of it likely.’

  They looked at each other, but seriously now, then he said, ‘Well, anyway, I’m glad you’ve made a stand, that’s a beginnin’. Go on now. Goodnight to you.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mr McGillby.’

  When he went into the front room she lifted the kettle from the hob, took it into the scullery and there, filling a cup with hot water, she spooned into it two teaspoonfuls of cocoa and the same of condensed milk; then placing it on a wooden tray on which was spread a crocheted tray cloth, she took it up the stairs and into the bedroom.

  Nancy McGillby was lying back on her pillows; her eyes were closed and her face looked very white.

  Emily, approaching on tiptoe, said softly, ‘It’s your cocoa, Mrs McGillby.’

  Mrs McGillby opened her eyes and stared at Emily, then said, ‘Sin is an abomination unto the Lord and you don’t have to use your tongue or your hands to sin, you can do it with your eyes.’

  They stared at each other; then Emily said, ‘Yes, Mrs McGillby.’

  ‘Those who lust after the flesh shall die by the flesh.’

  Again they stared at each other, and again Emily said, ‘Yes, Mrs McGillby.’

  ‘Put it down.’

  Emily put the tray on the side table, then watched Mrs McGillby press her hand to a place underneath her breast. She did not speak again but dismissed her with a slight movement of her other hand.

  Emily went out, across the narrow landing and into her own room. It was just turned nine o’clock and the twilight was deepening. She wished Mrs McGillby wouldn’t always keep spouting the Bible at her. And she always said it in such a funny way that she couldn’t understand her. But what matter, Mr McGillby was nice and kind and thoughtful. And oh, she was so tired. Wouldn’t it be lovely if she could stay in bed for a whole night and a day! Oh, lovely!

  She partly undressed herself sitting on the edge of the bed, and when, within a few short minutes, she had donned her nightgown she lay down, and in less time than it takes to tell she was asleep.

  She was dreaming of Sammy Blacket, who lived at the top of Creador Street. They had gone to the same school but he had left long before her to take up the glorified position of apprentice in Palmer’s shipyard in Jarrow. Twice he had waited for her at the bottom of their street and set her home on a Sunday night, and all the while he had talked about the shipyard and the boat he was making. It seemed as if he was making it all by himself, and it a sort of battleship. When he was out of his time, he said, he would earn as much as twenty-five shillings a week. She didn’t believe him; nobody earned twenty-five shillings a week, except perhaps Mr McGillby. But then he was a gaffer in the docks, and he had the power to set men on the boats or not set them on, just as the mood pleased him.

  And now Mr McGillby came into the dream. He was pushing Sammy Blacket to one side and yelling at her, ‘Come on! Come on, Emily, get up! Do you hear? Get up!’

  She was sitting bolt upright in bed, staring through the candlelight at the interrupter of her dreams, and she spluttered, ‘What’s it? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Get up, Emily. Don’t wait to put your things on, just slip into your coat and go in to the missis; I’ve got to go for the doctor. She’s bad, real bad.’

  The candle disappeared, she was left in the darkness. Groping her way to the back of the door, she took down her coat and put it round her; then still groping, she opened the door and went across the la
nding and into the bedroom. The lamp was turned up full, the room was hot and pervading it was a smell of vomit.

  Nancy McGillby lay slumped into her pillows; her head was leaning to the side, her eyes were wide open and her breath was coming in painful gasps.

  Emily leant over the bed, saying softly, ‘You’ll be all right, Mrs McGillby, you’ll be all right. Mister has gone for the doctor; he’ll soon be here.’

  When her hand gently touched the twitching fingers clutching at the eiderdown it was pushed away, and Emily straightened up and stood looking helplessly down on her mistress who was staring at her fixedly as if she wanted to say something. And then she did say something. Her mouth wide, she cried, ‘O-o-oh no! Not yet.’ Then her chest seemed to drop inwards, her head fell to the side, her fingers stopped twitching, and she lay still.

  For a moment Emily was rooted to the spot. She knew that Mrs McGillby was dead. She felt sick. She was going to be sick. Eeh, yes, she was going to be sick. She turned and scampered from the room and down the stairs, and reached the scullery only just in time.

  She was sitting at the kitchen table when Sep McGillby returned. He stopped for a moment inside the door and looked at her; then, giving a small shake of his head, he went silently past her and up the stairs.

  Three

  It rained the day of the funeral. It was the first rain for three weeks and all the mourners said it was a pity because Mrs McGillby was to be put away quite grandly. The coffin was of light oak with three sets of fine brass handles on it, and the hearse was the best to be had in the town; a resident of Westoe couldn’t have had a better departure; and what was more there were five cabs.

  After the cortège had left the house Emily sat down for a moment in the middle of the front room and sighed, but even as she did she warned herself this was no time to take it easy because now the house was clear the tables had to be set, the food put out, the kettles kept boiling; and she told herself as she sat in the darkened room, for the blind was still fully drawn, that by the look of things she’d better cut up the remainder of the ham that was left on the bone, and also the rest of the second piece of brisket; the tongue had already been spread out as far as it would go.

  She had been cooking solidly for the past two days because, as Mr McGillby said, things must be done properly, and the members of the chapel would expect a good meal.

  She couldn’t quite take in at the moment the fact that Mrs McGillby was no longer with them and that in future she’d have the house to herself for most of the day, and no-one to give her orders.

  Just before dropping off to sleep last night she had thought about it. It was as if a miracle had happened to her. But she had chastised herself harshly for daring to think like that, and Mrs McGillby laid out below her in the front room.

  But now Mrs McGillby was no longer in the house, and although the place was still in deep mourning, and would be for days ahead, she already felt an air of lightness everywhere. Even though she was dog-tired and her legs ached something awful, the feeling of lightness was seeping into her.

  Eeh! She roused herself. What was she sitting here for dreaming? If things weren’t right when they returned she’d get her head in her hands and her brains to play with. But would she? There was no Mrs McGillby to reprimand her now. She was, she knew, in a strange way almost her own mistress because Mr McGillby would never bully her; he had never said an unkind word to her since she had come into the house.

  She almost skipped from the room and into the scullery and for the next hour she made countless journeys back and forth, and when the tables in the front room were ready to seat sixteen people, and the kitchen table so arranged to seat another eight, she gazed at her handiwork, dusted her hands one against the other, then, glancing down at her apron, she said aloud, ‘By! I’d better change that afore they arrive else Mrs Goodyear’s goggle eyes will say, Tut, tut, tut!’

  She checked the chuckle that rose in her throat; she shouldn’t show such disrespect to the chapelgoers. But then, she hadn’t much use for them, they were all ranters; and when she came to think of it she was very surprised that Mr McGillby was one of their company. Yes she was, very surprised.

  She had changed her apron and had just reached the foot of the stairs when there was a knock on the back door. When she opened it she saw a woman standing there. She was short and plump and looked none too clean. Although she didn’t look quite the beggar type, she didn’t look like anyone who would have come calling on Mrs Nancy McGillby.

  ‘Do you want something?’ she asked.

  For answer the woman said, ‘They’ve gone then?’

  ‘You mean the funeral?’

  ‘Aye, that’s what I mean. An’ I never heard a word of it till just on an hour ago.’

  As the woman now pushed past her and into the scullery, Emily, putting her hand out, closed the door leading into the kitchen saying, ‘Here, hold on, wait a minute. Who are you anyway?’

  ‘Who am I, miss? I’ll tell you who I am, I’m Mrs Jessie Blackmore, Jessie McGillby as was. He’s me brother.’

  Aw, so this, so to speak, was the skeleton in the cupboard. Once or twice she had heard Mr and Mrs McGillby talking in the bedroom, not rowing, but talking a bit loud, and if she remembered rightly it was about Mr McGillby’s relations. And she recalled now the one time she had heard Mr McGillby really raise his voice was when he said, ‘Look, I don’t want them any more than you do, so let that be the end of it.’

  Emily could see now all right why Mr McGillby hadn’t wanted to keep in with his sister, because she was certainly no class. Common, that was the word for it, common as muck. People could be poor but they needn’t be common, there was a difference. She couldn’t explain it but she knew all about it inside herself. And so, feeling this way, she hung on to the knob of the door that led into the kitchen and she said, ‘I’m expecting them back any minute, so I can’t let you in there.’

  ‘Get out of me way, you!’

  ‘I’ll not get out of your way; I’m in charge of the house until Mr McGillby comes back. An’ you can stay in the scullery here or you can get outside.’

  ‘By God! Who do you think you are? Eeh, by!’—the woman nodded at her now—‘I can see it, I can see it all as plain as a pikestaff. You’re playin’ the mistress, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not playin’ anything. I do just what I’m paid for and that’s looking after Mr McGillby’s house.’

  ‘Aw, aye, you are.’ The woman’s head was nodding knowingly at Emily now. ‘I never had much use for Lady Nancy but I can see she was up against something.’

  Indignation rising in her, Emily was about to ask, and pointedly, what the woman meant, when the sound of the carriages arriving caused her to open the door slightly and look through the kitchen towards the front room and the front door. Then turning to the woman again and realising what an embarrassment she’d be to Mr McGillby in front of the members of the chapel, she actually put her hands on her and pushed her towards the open back door, crying, ‘Stay there a minute; I’ll tell him you’re here.’

  The woman staggered back as much in surprise as from the force of the push, and before she could recover Emily had shot the bolt in the door. Then running through the kitchen and the front room, she flung open the front door just in time to allow the first mourners to enter.

  Mrs Goodyear led the way; then Mrs Hailey; then Mrs Robson; then Mrs Dunn and other women whom Emily couldn’t put a name to. The first of the men to enter was Mr McGillby, and with what she would, under ordinary circumstances, have considered a disrespectful approach to a recently bereaved man she gripped his arm and pulled him aside and, straining her face towards his, she whispered, ‘Your sister’s in the backyard, Mr McGillby. I kept her there; I thought it best.’

  The look on his face told her that she had done quite right to keep his sister in the backyard, and he nodded at her twice. Then whispering back at her, ‘You see to them, will you?’ he sidled his way through the black-clothed groups and into th
e scullery …

  The mourners were seated at the tables, and Mrs Dunn was helping Emily to pour out the tea when Sep McGillby re-entered the room. His face looked red and all eyes were turned on him in sympathy for a moment. They understood, he’d had to leave them because he could not give way to his sorrow in public …

  If a vote could have been taken on the funeral it would have been labelled a great success. When the last mourner shook Sep’s hand and he closed the front door on him he leant against it for a moment, opened his mouth wide and gulped at the stale air of the room; then he straightened his thickset body, pressed back his shoulders and, stretching his neck first one way then another out of his stiff high collar, he walked through the front room and into the kitchen where Emily was placing the chenille cloth over the table, a sign that that room was clean and tidy.

  ‘Well, lass, it’s over.’

  ‘Yes, Mr McGillby.’

  ‘Sit down, get off your legs, you must be worn out.’

  Pulling out a chair from under the table, she sat down and smoothed her apron over her knees before joining her hands together and laying them in her lap.

  Sep, too, sat down, in the high-backed wooden chair at the side of the fireplace, and for a moment he stared into the fire; then he turned his head and looked at her and said, ‘We’ve got to get down to business, Emily, come to terms like. You understand?’

  It was a little while before she answered, ‘Well, not quite, Mr McGillby.’

  He screwed round in the chair now and, leaning his elbow on the arm, he asked, ‘Do you want to stay on here and look after the house and me?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mr McGillby.’ Her voice was high. ‘Aye, of course.’

  ‘Aye, I thought you would, but you know it’s…well it’s going to be awkward, there might be talk, in fact they’re already chewing it over, the chapel lot.’ He jerked his head backwards as if the chapel lot were behind him, and the disdain in his tone widened her eyes and brought her lips apart as he exclaimed, ‘Oh aye, you can look like that, an’ I don’t blame you. You’ve always been a lass who’s had her wits about her, I could see that from the start, and you’ll likely class me as a bit of a hypocrite, but perhaps not when you know the whole story. And I’ll tell it you sometime, but in the meantime, as I said, there’s going to be talk. Can you put up with it?’