The Wingless Bird Read online

‘Oh I did, Charlie, I did. It’s the only way you can get at him. He’s one of these suave individuals who won’t argue.’

  ‘And what answers did he give you? Satisfactory ones?’ Reginald asked.

  Henry licked his finger, then rubbed it against his trouser leg. It was such a childish action that they all laughed again before he said, while striking a pose, ‘“You have a lot to learn, Mr Farrier.”’ And he laughed himself as he ended, ‘But he didn’t add, “and the best way you’ll learn it is to travel from one parish to another, and that’s what you’re going to do as soon as I can arrange it.” So, with a bit of luck I shall be leaving the Midlands and returning to grubby old Gateshead or Sunderland, thanks be to God.’

  ‘Oh! Henry, you know what you are?’ Elaine was looking up at him, her face wide with laughter now, and he, looking down at her, said, ‘Yes, Elaine, I know what I am: one of God’s idiots.’

  ‘What on earth made you take the cloth, anyway?’ said Reginald as he squatted down at Elaine’s side.

  The three of them looked at the dark-dressed figure of their brother, his head back, as he stared at the huge oil painting of highland cattle hanging on the broad stone wall of the fireplace, and he answered, ‘I don’t know, Reggie. I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that question time and again. I could say I drifted into it, but that wouldn’t be true. It seems, on looking back, one day I was outside and then the next day I was in, as if I’d had nothing to do with it: I had been pushed or drawn or whatever you like. Oh’—his hand bounced now—‘why bother? I’m in, and that’s all there is about it.’ He now grinned; then looked from Elaine to Charles and said, ‘You know, you two used always to be sitting like this whenever you got the chance. What d’you talk about?’

  It was Charles who answered quietly, ‘Oh, about times past when we were young and silly and, at Christmas, what we were going to get in our stockings. And would Father get a surprise when he opened his box of cigars, and Mama her perfume? It was the same every year, wasn’t it?’ He looked around, as it were, for confirmation, and they all nodded. Then Elaine said, ‘Do you remember we used to go out with Mama and buy Father’s cigars, and then go out with Father—he would take us into Newcastle and we would get Mama’s perfume. And we were reminded of this last week when, in making our way up from the quay, we passed this sweetshop and there were the sugar mice in the window, and the cat, and that’s why we went in and bought some.’

  ‘Oh, I meant to tell you.’ Charles pointed towards her now. ‘You know there was a tobacconist next door? Well, I called in there today for cigars and I saw this young woman; and you remember the one that was in the sweetshop, she was so nice and obliging; well I thought I was looking at her twin. She was dressed differently but it was the same face, the same hair, the same pleasant manner, and I said to her, well, I put it to her, was she a twin? And she said no. The long and the short of it is, her father owns the two shops—I suppose they’re joined at the back—and she was standing in for her father. That was odd, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Elaine nodded at him. ‘It was odd. Did she know as much about cigars as she did about sweets?’

  ‘Yes, she was quite knowledgeable. But her father came in and oh, he was knowledgeable too and he let one know it. Had he been quite sober I’m sure he wouldn’t have talked so much.’

  ‘He was tight?’

  Charles looked at Reginald: ‘Nearly so,’ he said; ‘he smelt strongly of drink and his tongue was very loose, trying to impress.’

  ‘Was she pretty?’

  ‘You mean, the girl, the young woman?’ Charles bit on his lower lip and looked to the side as if there he would find the answer to the question; then shook his head, saying, ‘You know, I couldn’t say.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t pretty.’

  The three brothers looked at their sister, and she went on, ‘She had an interesting face that could be beautiful. She could never be just pretty; she was, well, rather vivacious in a subdued sort of way.’

  ‘D’you mean to say, Elaine, that you took more notice of her than he did?’ Henry was now thumbing towards Charles. ‘Or is he just playing safe? I bet you thought she was beautiful.’ He was now giving his whole attention to Charles, who said, ‘If you say so, Henry, then it must be right. But if I recall, my impression was she was a nice person.’

  ‘That’s something to start on.’

  ‘Oh, don’t take that tack, Reg.’

  ‘Why not? There are some very smart shop-girls.’

  ‘She’s not a shop-girl as such. Her father, as I told you, owns the place.’

  ‘Well, she serves in the shop, in both of them, by what you say. So, she’s a shop-girl.’

  ‘Now, Reg, I know what mood you’re in. You washed your dinner down very well and, after, you almost drowned yourself in port. Now if you want to argue about shop-girls, you take on Henry here. He must know a lot about shop-girls from his experience in his industrial parish. But here’s someone who’s going to bed. How about you, Elaine?’

  He got to his feet and held out his hand, as also did Reginald, towards Elaine and, together they pulled her to her feet. And, looking from one to the other, she now said, ‘Goodnight, fellows, and a happy Christmas.’

  ‘And to you, sis.’ And one after the other they kissed her on the cheek. Then she, linking an arm in one of Charles’, left with him, and as the door closed on them Henry looked at Reginald and said, ‘Elaine’s changed. She’s not happy any more.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Oh, just practice, I suppose, looking at people, listening to them.’

  Reginald now moved a step towards his brother and, putting an arm around his shoulder, he said, ‘You’re a funny old stick, you know, Henry. You always have been.’

  ‘Don’t you be so damn patronising, Reginald Farrier. And not so much of the old stick. And let me tell you, you pompous individual, that there are more wars to be fought than those with guns. And I’ll tell you something else while I’m on: if I were you I’d go easy on the women. Oh, don’t pull that face; I hear things. I was at the Combes’ yesterday, and the Hammonds were there. Sarah’s not very pleased with you. You took her pet lamb Joseph out on a spree, didn’t you? And then there’s Frances Combes. Why has she turned down David Pickering? Ma and Pa Pickering tried to probe, but I was sorry I couldn’t help them. I think, dear boy, the quicker you get back to your regiment the better.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Reginald now pushed Henry none too gently in the shoulder. ‘You are an old snooper, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, I am not. That is something I am not. But because of the cloth’—he now pulled at the front of his collarless coat—‘they either think that one isn’t quite human and is devoid of all those naughty feelings that trouble an ordinary man, or they imagine you hold all the answers. And then there’s the inn at Fellburn. You’re not a stranger there, either, are you? And don’t you recall the ticking-off you got from Father when you were fifteen and were caught in there with a girl…or was it a woman? And he got you into the coach by putting his toe in your backside, and he was only stopped from horsewhipping you by Mama’s gentle persuasion. So when referring to me in future, dear brother, remember that although I wear the cloth, Henry George Farrier is still underneath it.’

  ‘Well, well! You know, you’ve always surprised me, Henry. Here’s me taking you for a prancing little parson when all the while the cloth is a covering for a frustrated sex maniac.’

  ‘Oh!’ Henry flapped his hand at his brother. ‘You know where you can go to, boy, and take your shovel with you.’

  As Henry turned away and walked down the room Reginald bellowed with laughter; and when his brother reached the door he shouted, ‘Happy Christmas, Rev!’ at which Henry turned and quietly now and in his jovial manner, he said, ‘And to you, Reg. And God bless you.’

  Reginald remained in the middle of the room staring at the closed door for a moment; then, his head making small jerks, he turned towards the fire and,
leaning his elbow along the mantelshelf, he looked down into the dying embers. Go easy on the women, Henry had said; whereas what he should have said was, ‘Tell the women to keep off you.’ Yes, to give him the chance to find the right one, the one that would stir him in such a way that he felt he couldn’t do without her. Some feeling like that which had attacked Jim Nesbitt last year and made him marry that girl in Durham, who, to his mind, had nothing going for her. Plain as a pikestaff, really, even prominent front teeth; yet, he had been unbearable until he got her; and now, as Jim himself said, he felt like a lame dog who had found a wonderful home. He thought it was a very strange simile, because he had never looked upon Jim as a lame dog, more like a gay dog. Then there was Arnold, Arnold Beaumont. After losing his wife he had nearly gone to pieces; yet they had been married six years. Surely he should have been over the romantic stage by then. But no; he almost left the regiment. It had been difficult to convince him that such a step would be the worst one he could take. And when the colonel himself seemed to have taken matters into his own hands by delegating him to a job that tired him out day after day, week after week, it seemed they had been successful. But not so, not entirely.

  What was it that these two friends of his felt for women that had never touched him? Was there something wrong with him? When he came to think of it, was there something wrong with the three of them? Charles was avoiding marriage like the plague, and Henry had taken on the cloak of religion. And yet parsons got married. But he couldn’t see that happening to Henry. They all seemed, in a way, to be avoiding the main issue of life. Yet, look at their parents: there was a love match, if ever there was one. Even his father’s ice-cum-iron exterior had never been able to hide the feeling he had for his wife. Well, there was one thing sure: whatever that feeling was he hadn’t passed it on to even one of his three sons.

  But what about his daughter? Henry seemed to think she wasn’t happy. But she had three children, yet that didn’t really signify anything: cows had calves, horses had foals, pigs had litters. Man wasn’t very far removed from the animal in that sense. It didn’t need love to create; for then the population would surely be very much reduced. No; it was a particular feeling that seemed to be lacking in the three of them.

  He started slightly when he heard McCann say, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I thought you…you had all retired.’

  ‘I’m sorry too, McCann, for keeping you up.’ He moved from the fireplace.

  ‘Not at all, sir, not at all. It’s Christmas Eve and everybody’s been busy. But doesn’t the tree look splendid, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it does. The children will be delighted with it in the morning, and they’ll have us all up before breakfast, I’ve no doubt. Well, goodnight, McCann.’

  ‘Goodnight, sir, and a happy Christmas.’

  ‘And the same to you. The same to you.’

  McCann stood to the side until Reginald had left the room; he then put the chairs back in place, puffed up the feather cushions on the chesterfield, rearranged the small tables, swept the ash from around the hearth, brought a straight iron fireguard and placed it before the fire. Only then did he stand with his back to the fireplace and look about the room.

  He liked this room: it was splendid yet comfortable. He liked his employment. He liked the family: they were a fine lot. He was lucky to have a job like this. He really had fallen on his feet, and if only Jane would look more kindly on him, they’d both be set for life. Of course he was thirteen years older than her, she being but twenty; but then she would take into consideration that he was the footman and it was a splendid rise for her from kitchen maid. Then, of course, if Rose Pratt were to leave because of her rheumatics, and she being forty-five, there was a chance that Jane would move upwards. Not that he wished any harm to Rose, and it wasn’t as if she would be on her own because, being the wife of Peter, and he the stable man, she was well set in their cottage.

  Oh, life was good. But it could be better, and it was promising to be so; and for every member in the household, God bless them, for there was never a better master nor mistress. They gave you your place, yes they did, they gave you your place; and you gave them theirs; and that was how things should be.

  As he turned out the gas jet he whistled to himself.

  PART THREE

  Jessie

  One

  ‘Don’t say it, Jessie. Don’t say it.’ Agnes actually put her hands over her ears as she looked at Jessie sitting close to her on the edge of the bed. Her sister’s head was bowed and her hands, clasped tightly into fists, were resting on her knees.

  ‘You must be mad, insane,’ Agnes almost yelled at her, only to clap a hand over her mouth and glance towards the door as if expecting it to open and her mother to appear; and for a while there was silence between them, except for the slight moaning sound coming from Jessie.

  ‘They’ll go mad. They won’t stand for it.’ Agnes’ voice was so low that it was hardly audible to herself; it was as if her thoughts had escaped and were afraid of their own sound.

  Following another brief silence, she said, ‘When…when did this happen? I mean…?’

  ‘Over…over two months ago.’ Jessie’s head was still bowed and her hands still clenched.

  My God in heaven! Agnes said the words to herself, her mind telling her that this was the end of June and her sister must have been carrying this dreadful secret since…when? Sometime in April. Why hadn’t she noticed the change in her? Why hadn’t she questioned her about her constant visits to the lavatory first thing in the morning? Her mother had questioned her lack of appetite. Her father had questioned the lack of gaiety in their pretty daughter. Her mother had given herself the answer to her question: girls these days didn’t know what they wanted. And her father’s answer to the question given himself had been: those tests at the secretarial college were making his daughter nervy; and the quicker they were over the better.

  But in the main her mother had continued to live in her own world and her father in his, and she herself had been waging an inward war of words against the narrowness of her existence and with no hope of seeing a way out: she had given the final ‘no’ to Henry Stalwort and convinced Peter Chambers that it was useless him thinking she would change her mind. And after she had done the latter? All she had experienced was a new emptiness.

  The only excitement in her life now seemed to be the exchange of clothes for hats by Mrs Bretton-Fawcett. She now had three of that lady’s outfits in the wardrobe and there had not yet been an occasion on which she could wear one of them: the last one had been a winter coat sporting a large fur collar, and the previous one, as Miss Belle called it, an afternoon tea gown. Why had she bought them? She didn’t really know. Perhaps because she liked the feel of the material; perhaps because they opened up a glimpse of another world…She didn’t know.

  ‘Aggie.’ Jessie was sitting up straight now, the tears running down her face, and she asked as a child might, ‘What am I going to do?’

  Agnes again stopped herself from yelling, ‘How do I know?’ and she was about to say, ‘You should have thought about this before,’ but this would have been a stupid reply, for when that urge was tearing at your body and there was a way of getting rid of it, would one stop to think? No. No, one wouldn’t.

  Suddenly she put her arms out and pulled the young girl to her; and when Jessie’s sobs rose she warned her quickly, ‘Be quiet! Be quiet! You’ll have her in, or, worse still, Father. We’ve got to think. Where is he, this…this fellow, Felton?’ And when the muttered reply, ‘He’s…he’s gone on a trip to try and make some money so we could…could get married,’ came from her shoulder, she pushed Jessie upwards, saying, ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘Oh, Agnes, don’t say it like that.’

  ‘How do you want me to say it then? If he was here this minute I would feel like killing him. Does he know?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’

  ‘Oh, well then, that trip could go on for years. You’ve seen the last of him.’

  ‘Oh
no, I haven’t! I haven’t!’ Jessie pulled herself away from Agnes and further along the bed: ‘He loves me and I love him.’

  ‘Jessie. I’m afraid you’ll have to wake up to the fact that that kind of man from that kind of a family wouldn’t know the meaning of love.’

  She was surprised when Jessie sprang to her feet, saying, ‘You know nothing about him. He’s different, he’s different from the rest of them.’

  ‘Well, he would have to be, wouldn’t he, because it was in the papers only last week that one of them was sent along the line to Durham for fighting. Actual bodily harm, it said. And another of them has just come out after doing time for burglary.’

  ‘He’s not like that, I tell you. He’s not like them.’ Jessie’s voice was now a vibrant hiss. ‘He wants to break away. He means to. He’s rough, yes, but…but he’s got ideas. Given the chance, he could get on. As he says, he’s never had a chance. There’s six of them older than him, and his mother. She’s the ringleader; the father’s dead. You don’t know him. You’ll have to meet him and talk with him.’

  ‘I’m doing no such thing. And I’ll say it again, I’ll be surprised if you ever see him or talk to him again. Anyway, let’s stop arguing about his merits. Sit yourself down here’—she pointed to the bed—‘and let’s work out what’s to be done.’

  When Jessie was again seated and her anger was deflated, Agnes said, ‘How…how far is it, really?’ and Jessie drooped her head as she muttered, ‘Three months or so, and it’s beginning to be…be prominent.’

  ‘Well, in that case, you’ve got to come into the open.’

  ‘I’m…I’m frightened, Aggie. More so of Father than of Mother. What she’ll be worried about is the talk in the street and around, but Father, I…I just daren’t think.’

  ‘Nor do I, Jessie. Nor do I.’