Kate Hannigan Page 6

  ‘I’ve brought you a visitor, cook. Would you like to give this little lady some lunch?’

  ‘With pleasure, doctor. With pleasure.’ Mrs Summers looked at the dark and fair heads close together; she gave an apt description of them to herself…He looks like a kindly divil holding a wee angel. It’s bairns that man wants; he’d be a different man if he had bairns. But he’ll never get any out of that ‘un. She’s got ice in her veins; I don’t need to have fallen seven times to know that. I bet that’s what half the rows are over, too…

  Annie’s lips quivered as she watched the doctor back towards the door. ‘I want to come with you.’

  ‘I won’t be a minute, Annie; I’m just going into the other room.’

  ‘Will you come back?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Now just look what I’ve got for you.’ Mrs Summers took the situation in hand, and Rodney went out and into the cloakroom off the hall, and washed his hands…It had been a mistake to bring the child here, but she had looked so pathetic, standing at the end of that grim street, waiting patiently for him to pass down the main road. And on a Christmas Eve, too; Christmas was made for children…He had had a vision of himself playing with her on the rug before the fire, and perhaps Stella laughing down at them from her chair…the perhaps had obliterated the vision…Annie’s childish love, born of his kindness to her, had struck an answering chord in him. He wished he could do something for her, make her lot easier without causing comment…In his disappointment at Stella’s reception of the child he realised that his intention had been to arouse her interest. There was so much she could do; there were so many like Annie. If only…Oh, it was hopeless! Every move he made, every suggestion was tactfully turned aside…

  When he re-entered the drawing-room Stella was still standing by the fire-place, her face like a cameo against the black bog-oak. She gave off an air of delicacy, which made him wonder anew at the strength of so fragile a creature…Why had things gone wrong between them? Right from the beginning their temperaments had warred; not only in their physical relations but in their mental and everyday relations there were jarring notes. He wanted children; she couldn’t have any. Yet, after having had the necessary examinations, she had been found quite normal. He had seen to it that the fault didn’t lie with him; but still, never a mention of one. He had wanted a home, a place where he could at least have a dog, but she had made this beautiful shell. He wanted someone to talk to, someone who could enter into the desolation that was himself, or bring him out of it by their sympathy and understanding. He did not want to be led into the realms of mental phantasy by description of even the most commonplace things, which was the turn any conversation with her took. He liked poetry; but his poets were of a nature, so beefy, or style so simple, as to bring laughing derision on them. If only he and Stella could agree to differ; but this would seem to be the most difficult task of all.

  Stella, still holding the letter in her hands, was impatient to give him the news. But she could not do it effectively while the atmosphere of the silly incident still prevailed; so she prepared her ground. ‘Rodney, I’m sorry, dear, but children are so awkward. It would have upset us both if she had spilt or broken anything. You would then have blamed yourself for bringing her…Don’t you see?’ She went to him and held up her face to be kissed. ‘There! Am I forgiven for not wanting my Spode to be broken?’ she said, laughing up at him. ‘You’re not angry with me any more? When you are angry you look like a black demon; it’s a wonder children aren’t afraid of you, instead of waiting at street corners for you.’ She had succeeded; he even looked gratified at her playfulness. ‘Come on!’ she urged, tweaking his nose.

  He smiled at her, hope rising in him, anew, and he began to clutch wildly at straws again. ‘I’m sorry, dear, I was nasty. But if you could see how some of those children live; twelve to fourteen people herded together in four rooms. Annie’s lucky, in a way, there are only three of them; but she’s got a beast of a grandfather. I attended him for eight months when his leg was smashed up. I used to loathe the thought of touching him; he always gave me the impression of being a gigantic snake; it’s his eyes, I think. I can never understand how he came to be the father of…’

  ‘Look, darling,’ Stella broke in gently, ‘Mary’s taking the lunch in, and I want to tell you my little bit of news…Read that!’ She thrust the letter towards him, and stood, her hands behind her back, gazing up at him in a little-girl attitude while he read it.

  ‘Why, Stella, I didn’t even know you had sent the book away. Oh, I am glad.’

  Guessing how much this meant to her, he tried to appear thrilled at the news, thrusting down the dread that it would create another milestone between them. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her. ‘Congratulations, my dear…Well!’ he said, reading the letter again while standing with one arm around her shoulders. ‘And they would like another at your leisure! I say, you’re famous!’

  ‘Rodney, don’t be silly!’

  ‘But it’s no easy thing to get a book of poems published. Stories, yes; but publishers are very wary of poems.’

  ‘But they are so simple.’

  ‘Simple or not, they like them.’

  To Stella’s chagrin, she realised that his amazement was not so much at her writing the poems as the publisher accepting them…Simple or not! he had said. Would Herbert Barrington have given that retort? Never. But in Rodney’s estimation Herbert Barrington was an effeminate sop. He didn’t know that it was on Herbert’s advice that she had sent the book away, and that the publisher was Herbert’s cousin. Were she to tell him, he would likely imply that influence was the main factor on which it had relied for publication…Hiding her annoyance, she smilingly led the way into the dining-room.

  In an endeavour to hold fast to the new ground they were on, Rodney burst out, ‘This calls for a celebration. Let’s go somewhere tonight! We’ll dash up to Newcastle; I’ll order a table…’

  ‘Rodney!’ Stella’s voice was patient. ‘Do you really mean to say you have forgotten we are giving a dinner tonight?’

  ‘Good Lord! So I had.’

  ‘Even with your friends the Davidsons coming?’

  ‘Now, now, Stella. No sarcasm.’

  ‘But I’m not being sarcastic. You are for ever talking of them, so it surprises me that you have forgotten you invited them.’

  ‘I had forgotten about tonight, but only for the moment. I wanted us to have a little fling to celebrate your success.’

  ‘That’s very sweet of you, dear, but we’ll have to reserve it for another time. Tonight we entertain the locals’…all but one, she added to herself.

  At her reference to the locals Rodney gave her a quick glance. Then he lapsed into silence; for he knew they were no nearer. Her success had made her more pleasant for a time, that was all, and had saved him from having another dose of her patient suffering that would have surely followed his latest indiscretion of bringing the child to the house.

  * * *

  Another of Mrs Prince’s dinners was drawing to its close. Clara Richards, sitting at her host’s right hand looked down the long, glittering table to where her hostess sat talking to that pasty-looking young man who kept flinging his hands about as though they did not belong to him. Mrs Richards was inwardly seething. At her last dinner, when the Princes were there, she had served seven courses; it had taken days to look up books and think out dishes. Now that china doll up there had served only five and had everyone exclaiming over them…her and her hors d’oeuvres, and her finger-bowls and candles on the table. Who was she, anyway? Only a doctor’s wife, like herself. And look at him, there, laughing with Peggy Davidson…Looking at Rodney, she wondered what it was about him that had trebled his practice within four years; he had more than half the Tyne Dock patients and all East Jarrow; and then that Lady Cuthbert-Harris sending for him right from yon end of Westoe. It was easy for Joe to say she was a neurotic and hoped to get a sensation out of his beard. Joe had lost quite a num
ber of patients lately, mostly women; and why? Well, he certainly wasn’t her idea of handsome. It’s his la-la manners and haw-haw voice they go daft over, I suppose. Something would have to be done; but what? She didn’t know. She certainly couldn’t see her Joe mincing around women, and perhaps that was something to be thankful for. She had enough trouble with him, as it was; the money he spent on drink, and with three girls to bring up! Which brought her back to her hostess…It paid you to hold a candle to the Devil. Stella Prince had a sister married to a lord; not one of these newly made ones, either. She had looked up this particular one’s lineage, and had been deeply impressed. They had visited here last year, and would likely visit again; and if her girls could obtain an introduction to a lord - well, everything has to start, hasn’t it…

  Across the table, Peggy Davidson was now listening to Doctor Richards’s pompous voice and thinking, How soon can we leave? I hope the kiddies are asleep. But they won’t be…they’ll be playing old Anna up. Fancy having a dinner on a Christmas Eve! Oh, I hate leaving the house tonight; and I’ve got their stockings to fill. I wonder if we could go about nine o’clock. No, that would be too soon. And it would likely hurt Rodney; he’s so anxious for me to be friends with her; but I can’t. Still, I mustn’t let him see. He sounds very gay tonight, as if he has been drinking. But he seldom touches anything. She cast a quick glance at him. It’s all put on; he’s not happy. And this house! It’s like a showpiece. What he wants is a home. I used to wonder how he could be comfortable in our sitting-room, with the mess it’s usually in, but I don’t wonder any longer after having seen this.

  The rather squeaky voice of the young man broke in upon her thoughts. He had risen and was holding a glass of wine in his hand: ‘Ladies and gentlemen! I ask you to drink to the success of our gifted hostess. I don’t know whether you are aware of it, but our hostess is the author of a book of very fine poems which is soon to be published.’

  Rodney frowned. How dare he! Damn him! What right has he, anyway? And how does he know?…He came late. It’s not likely she’s just told him…The muscles in his cheeks worked rapidly.

  Amid exclamations of surprise and congratulations, the toast was drunk. Stella sweetly acknowledged their congratulations, and playfully admonished the young man for giving away her little secret. While he was insisting that she read the poems to the company in the drawing-room, Rodney’s voice broke in on her pleasure: ‘Let’s celebrate,’ he was saying, looking from Peggy Davidson to her husband. ‘What do you say, Peter?’

  ‘Anything you like, Rodney. Suits me.’

  ‘We’ll do a show in Shields…there’s a pantomime on somewhere…That’s it, let’s all go to the pantomime!’ He looked round the table, like an excited boy.

  Mrs Richards nodded laughing assent…Anything, she thought, is better than listening to that madam blowing her horn over a book of poetry…

  ‘A little childish fun won’t do us any harm,’ said Doctor Richards, easing his stomach away from the table. ‘If the ladies are agreeable, I’m for it.’

  The plain young woman who had come with Herbert Barrington looked relieved, even animated for a moment.

  Herbert Barrington looked at Stella, and she, striving to keep the signs of her anger from her face, looked down the table towards Rodney…How dare he! What did he mean? Breaking up her dinner party like this! And to suggest celebrating her success by going to a pantomime…a pantomime of all things!…She took a small, cold vow to herself: She’d make him suffer for this, as only she knew how. Her time would come.

  ‘I think we’re too late for the pantomime,’ she temporised.

  ‘No we’re not. It’s just turned eight o’clock, and the first house doesn’t come out until half-past,’ said Rodney, without looking at her. ‘If we go now we’ll have plenty of time.’ With the exception of Barrington, he took in the rest of the company in his glance: ‘Don’t you think so?’

  There were murmurs of assent.

  ‘I think we’ll leave the decision to our hostess,’ said Herbert Barrington, whose bulbous eyes were sending messages of sympathy and understanding to Stella.

  Stella allowed a little expectant silence to pervade the table before graciously answering, ‘By all means. If we are all of the same mind, let us go.’

  ‘And you will read your poems when we return?’ Herbert Barrington’s long white hands hovered before her beseechingly.

  Stella smiled at him: ‘If you wish.’

  The ladies got into their wraps, with the exception of Peggy who was wearing a plain grey coat. There were repeated warnings from Doctor Richards to wrap up well, for there was snow coming and he didn’t want any of them on his books. Peter Davidson stood aside in the hall, looking on, the half smile playing on his face. He wondered about Rodney…Why his sudden burst of animal spirits? He didn’t like it. If only he’d come out, and talk about things. Something was worrying him: that was evident.

  The party divided themselves into Rodney’s and Doctor Richards’s cars, and drove off amid laughter. Within fifteen minutes they were in Shields and had parked the cars in some stables off the market-place. The big, open market was thronged with shoppers, a number of them, by the sound of the singing and laughter, three seas over; paraffin flares threw into relief the gesticulating chocolate ‘kings’, medicine-men and other ‘auctioneers’. The party skirted the market and walked down King Street, and ran into a throng of people coming out of the theatre.

  ‘Keep together,’ called Rodney; ‘first house just coming out.’

  Stella shuddered…He was acting as if he were drunk. But she knew he wasn’t drunk; he was doing this just to annoy her…well!

  Having piloted the company to a comparatively clear corner of the vestibule, Rodney said, ‘I’ll see if I can get a box. Stay there!’

  They stood together, awaiting his return, Peter and Mrs Richards keeping up a bantering flow of small talk. A little distance away a queue for the second house passed quickly in front of the ticket box as the last of the first-house audience were leaving the theatre.

  Rodney was near the foot of the staircase talking to the manager - who was assuring him he was very lucky; there was one box left, and it would be a pleasure - when a childish voice shouting ‘Doctor!’ made itself heard above the din.

  Turning quickly, Stella saw the child who had caused her so much annoyance earlier in the day evade the detaining hand of a tall girl and dash towards Rodney.

  ‘Oh, Doctor,’ cried Annie, hurling herself against his legs, ‘I’ve seen the goose and all the great big eggs and the funny man and the beautiful ladies…!’

  ‘Why, Annie,’ said Rodney, ‘you’ve been to the pantomime!’ He took the hands held up to him: ‘Who brought you?…Hallo, Kate!’ he exclaimed, as Kate, accompanied by a stocky young man, pushed her way to his side.

  ‘Good evening, Doctor. I’m so sorry,’ she apologised…‘You’re a very naughty girl, Annie. Come along this minute!’

  ‘Now don’t scold her, Kate. Is it her first pantomime?’

  ‘Yes; and she’s been so excited we’ve hardly been able to keep her in her seat.’

  Rodney’s hands were cupping Annie’s upturned face, but he was looking at Kate…It must be three years since he last saw her. She was much taller…How fine she looked…stately; and what a figure! She had been a lovely girl…She was lovely now, but in a different way, for she had an air about her…Yes, that was it, she had a strange air about her…‘How are you getting on, Kate?’ he asked her.

  ‘Oh, very well, Doctor, thank you.’ Even her voice seemed different.

  ‘Still at the Tolmaches’?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ She hesitated and cast a swift, sidelong glance at the young man at her side.

  The young man looked at her with a possessive glint in his eye, and seemed to stretch himself to reach her height, as he spoke: ‘Not for much longer, though; you’ll soon be leaving there…We got engaged today, we’ll soon be married,’ he said to Rodney.

  Rodney l
ooked from Kate to the young man with the aggressive voice, then back to Kate again. ‘Congratulations, Kate! I’m so glad.’ His hand went out and she hesitantly put hers into it. It was the second time her fingers had touched him, and he was conscious of the fact. Her deep blue eyes, with that soft kindness in their depth, seemed to float mistily before him.

  The young man stretched his neck and moved his chin from side to side, and Stella, standing amid her guests watching the scene, was livid with fury. Twice today Rodney had made a spectacle of himself with that child, and now, to stand there in a public place holding that girl’s hand! It was just too much. She guessed who the girl was…

  ‘Doctor Prince has met some friends,’ Mrs Richards remarked, to no-one in particular; the expression on Stella’s face had not escaped her, and she was beginning to enjoy herself.

  ‘She was a patient of my husband’s, and, as far as I can gather, is a maid in Westoe.’

  A signal look passed between Peggy Davidson and her husband: ‘And a patient of mine, too; for one night, at least,’ said Peter. ‘You know, I always had my eye on Kate Hannigan; she’s the best-looking girl in the county. And if it hadn’t been for Peggy here getting her hooks into me…well, you never know!’

  Peggy smiled broadly; only she knew how much this great, lumbering man was hers.

  Stella looked at Herbert Barrington and slowly closed her eyes. ‘Oh, these people!’ her expression said.

  ‘I must go and have a word with Kate. Excuse me just a minute.’ Peter ambled over to the other group, hoping that his comments had made the scene before them appear more general…Rodney seemed to be storing up trouble for himself with every step he took tonight…‘Hello, Kate! Hello, Annie!’

  ‘Oh, hello, Doctor Davidson.’

  ‘How are you, Kate! But why need I ask! You’re looking fine; and this young lady too!’ He patted Annie’s cheek.

  ‘For which I have to thank you, Doctor.’