the maltese angel (17 page)

"Got into a fight, you say, parson? Are you for them? Those Feenians comin' over here blastin' an' bombin' an' murderin' the gentry; all under orders from that man Parnell. Scum he is, lowest of the low.

Riot-rousers. "

"Now! now! Charlie; you've got your facts wrong." He didn't add,

'again', but went on, "Parnell, let me tell you, is of the gentry, born and bred; all he is doing is fighting for the Irish poor, and if he was an Englishman fighting for the English poor, such as the factory

workers, the miners and such, he'd be praised as a hero."

Frank was tactful at this point not to mention farm labourers.

"You're damn well on his side; and on theirs an' all, that lot in the Hollow. Of course, you live next to 'em, that's why, likely."

"It isn't because I live next to them," said Frank quietly now; 'it's simply because I read history: I see two sides of this question. Have you asked yourself why so many Irish come over to this country? It's because they're starving;

and they were brought low through the rents and taxes of the English landlords over in their country. And I would add this," said Frank, getting a little heated now, 'if this was just a matter of politics it would soon be settled, but the main trouble is religion and bigotry.

Yes, bigotry, believing that, there being only one God, He is for you, and you alone. Bigotry, I say again. And you needn't go any further than your own village, which is rife with bigotry. "

Seeing the look on Fanny's face, Ward put in quickly and on a false laugh, "I'll always remember this day, and we'll talk about it to Jessie when she's grown up, won't we?" He reached out and took hold of Fanny's hand.

"We'll tell her that our two friends, the parson and the blacksmith, almost came to blows, and it was a good job the argument didn't take place in the forge, else you, Frank, would have been a gonner."

This caused general laughter around the table, and Frank, looking now at Charlie, said, "I'm sorry, Charlie. I lost my head. And as Ward's just said, I could, couldn't I, literally have lost my head had I been in the forge."

But Charlie wasn't to be placated so easily and, his big head wagging from side to side, he said, "I still don't know, parson, how you can be on their side after Mike Riley busting that fellow's jaw."

"Well," said Frank, with a broad smile on his face now, 'what would you do if someone called you a pig-nose Paddy? and to that added, "Do you push the pigs out of your bed to let your wife in?" I can tell you what, Charlie, I'd have had a go me self if that had been said to me.

"

"Sticks and stones may break me bones, but words won't hurt me."

At this childish retort, Fred and his father and other men at the table laughingly shouted him down.

Mr. and Mrs. Killjoy were the last to leave; and it was while Mr.

Killjoy was outside gathering up his family ready for the journey back to Newcastle in the brake that Mrs. Killjoy, already dressed in hat and cape, suddenly took Fanny by the hand and led her unhurriedly back into the sitting-room, and there in a mumbling whisper she said, "I must tell you. I promised him I wouldn't, but I must. He's not long for the top. We did our last turn a fortnight ago. My heart is heavy, Fanny, so heavy."

"Oh my dear. My dear." Fanny was now embracing her friend as far as her arms would go around her, and exclaiming rapidly, "Why didn't you tell me before? Oh, you must stay, you mustn't go. We can look after him. there's plenty of room. There's ..."

"Quiet, dear. Quiet. Now we've been through all this, Mr. Killjoy and I, and it is his wish that we stay with Mrs. Borman. She has been good to us all over the years, and she understands us. And, of course, our family. We had intended to stay there in any case while we were looking around for the cottage. But he'll never live in a cottage

now.

Don't .. don't cry, my dear, else he'll be angry. No. No, I mustn't say that; he has never been angry with me;

nor even vexed. Everything I have done has been right in his eyes, for he was so grateful that I chose him, and I was more than grateful that he chose me, because we were two oddities, despised in different ways for our bulk, or lack of it; but no two people have been happier than we have. And for this I thank God;

and now we both say His will be done .. Oh, please, my dear, don't.

don't. As he said, when he goes I will still have the consolation of the family and you, though Biddy and Rose are getting on, and their death, too, has to be faced. But from the moment we are born a day is regularly knocked off our life, whether the number is written long or short. Oh, there he is now. " She gently pushed Fanny away from her, saying briskly now, " Dry your face. Come, dry your face. Oh dear! If he sees you like that he'll know in a moment. Go on, fetch the baby down; and you can hide your face in hers. Quickly now. "

She had already turned and was walking towards the door, calling

loudly, "I can hear you, Mr. Killjoy. I can hear you. And my family too."

In the yard, Billy was in the driving seat of the brake, and behind him the dogs were barking their heads off while jumping up at the door of the brake to receive Carl's last patting.

When a strict word came from Mr. Killjoy, they scrambled on to the seat and sat quivering with pleasure as Ward helped their mistress up beside them.

Annie now called to Mrs. Killjoy, "Come back soon, please," to which Mrs. Killjoy replied, "I will. I will, me dear ... with pleasure."

As for Mr. Killjoy, he looked towards Fanny, who was slowly

approaching him across the yard and, hurrying towards her, he kissed her on the cheek as he said, "Bye-bye, my love. Be seeing you soon."

She could not answer him, but she took one hand from holding the child, and gripped his; then she stayed

where she was, not joining with Ward, Annie and the boy in waving

goodbye; but as soon as the brake had disappeared from sight, she

turned hurriedly to go into the house; and there, Ward and Annie found her sitting in the kitchen on a straight-back chair, rocking the child back and forth, the tears once again running down her face.

"What is it? What is it?" Ward was on his hunkers before her, and Annie to the side of her.

After a moment, haltingly, she told them what she had learned about her dear Mr. Killjoy.

When she had finished, neither of them made any immediate remark; but presently Annie said, "When he goes you must have her here, 'cos as you've always said, ma'am, she's been like a mother to you."

When Ward made no comment on this suggestion, Annie looked at him, and she said, "She needn't stay in the house. Well, you wouldn't want that tribe of dogs in the house; but there's always the cottage next door to us. It's been empty these many years, but it's still dry;

just wants airing. It's got a good flue. I remember that much about it: it doesn't smoke like ours. Well, what do you say? " She was looking straight at Ward; and his non-committal answer was, " We'll see. " Then taking Fanny's arm, he said, " Come on, dear, and put the child down and rest a while. It's been a busy day. " And as he left the kitchen he would not have been surprised had Annie called after him, " I can read your thoughts," because he was recalling the look on her face when she had put it to him with the words, " Well, what do you say? "

He liked Mrs. Killjoy; he'd always feel indebted to her, for if it hadn't been for her. Fanny wouldn't be his now. But that was not the point: Fanny was his, and his only, and the thought of her sharing her affection at close quarters with anyone else was at the moment

unbearable to him. He knew that she loved him, but how could he

measure her love against his own? His feeling for her was more than just love, it was a burning passion that he had to control. And there were times when he was even jealous of the attention she gave to the child, which, he knew, was a kind of madness. But there it was, he wanted her for himself, for himself only: he wanted her every thought, every feeling to be directed towards him; and even then it wouldn't be enough.

There were times when he questioned his feelings for her. Was this possessiveness normal? He could give himself no answer, because he had no-one or nothing with whom or with which to compare it; he only felt sure that for as long as he lived the feeling would not lessen; nor would it increase, for he couldn't see any other form that it could take: she was the centre of his life and the pivot around which he revolved. Yet never, never, not once did he wish that this thing had not happened to him. Even when they had maimed his cattle and burned his crops, no thought of his had touched her with blame for having come into his life. But now that she was in it, there was in him something that demanded her entire devotion. Her attention to Carl had more than once annoyed him and had made him sorry he had ever taken on the boy.

But when the same feeling had been directed against his own child he had said to himself. Steady on! But the command was equivalent to

trying to curb a stallion with a donkey rein, for the stallion in him was out of control, except in one way: he never roughly overrode her body, for in his arms she appeared a fragile thing. Yet he was

constantly aware there was a strength in her beyond his control. It was a spiritual strength that at times made him fearful, because he could never understand it. Nor could he face up to the fact that what he lacked was sensitivity.

After he had made her comfortable on the couch, she said, "What do you think about Annie's suggestion?" to which he could, or would, only answer: "Well, we'll have to leave it to Mrs. Killjoy, won't we?"

i43

* * i|s It happened that, after all. Ward had no need to worry about Mrs. Killjoy's coming to live with them, or near them. Mr. Killjoy died on 2 January 1888, and was buried three days later amid a storm of sleet, snow and piercing wind.

It was the custom that no woman should attend a funeral; therefore, besides^ Ward and Billy, only Harry Bates the fiddler and Mr. James Wilson Carter the Shakespearian actor, who happened to be engaged in the town at the time, were in attendance, Mrs. Killjoy and Fanny

meanwhile awaiting their return with Mrs. Borman in this lady's

sitting-room.

From the moment the coffin left the house, Fanny had been unable to suppress her tears, and Mrs. Borman, too, had cried, but Mrs.

Killjoy's face remained quite dry. As Mrs. Borman later remarked on the quiet to Fanny, how strange, indeed very strange, it was that she had never shed one tear since Mr. Killjoy had breathed his last

breath, not one sign of it; but very likely, she had added, she had cried inside.

It was some time after the four men had returned and been warmed with glasses of whisky, and had sat down to a hot meal of beef stew and dumplings, that Ward found himself alone in the sitting-room with Mrs.

Killjoy and Fanny, and Mrs. Killjoy was saying quietly but firmly in answer to Fanny's statement that she must come and live with them, that everything was already arranged:

the idea of a cottage now was out of the question; nor had she any intention of imposing herself on her two good friends; but there had been an arrangement struck between her third friend, Mrs. Borman and herself. Mrs. Borman was alone in the world, except for her fleeting visitors, and over the years an understanding friendship had grown between them, and she had now offered to share her home with her, and of course her family. And she had added, "Where would I get anyone else who would understand my family as Mrs. Borman has done?"

And when Fanny put in, "Oh, my dear Mrs. Killjoy, we would. You know we would."

"Yes, I know you would, my dear," Mrs. Killjoy hastened to assure them, 'but have you consulted your cows and your own dogs, not

forgetting your sheep? "

At any other time this would have been the cue for loud laughter, but neither Ward nor Fanny smiled; but Ward, looking at Fanny, said, "She's right, you know;

she's right. " Then turning to Mrs. Killjoy, he added, " But that won't stop you visiting us often, will it? "

"Oh no, my dear. I shall make it my business to come and see you as often as possible."

As Fanny again embraced the bulk of her dear Mrs. Killjoy, Ward gave vent to a long slow breath of relief, the while feeling satisfied with himself for having told Fanny only a few hours earlier that he would fall in with whatever plans she had for Mrs. Killjoy's future.

It was as if, for him, a giant pair of arms were about to release their hold on his wife, that from now on she would continue to be all his. He conveniently forgot, as if it had never existed, the jealousy he felt for her attention to his own child, and, too, the irritation caused by the interest she showed in Carl.

Life would be plain sailing from now on, he told himself.

^5

It was in March 1888 that their second child was conceived and Fanny told Ward in May; but his reception of the news was not as she had expected.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You're not fit yet; you were just getting on your feet."

"Don't be silly. And as for fitness, don't go by my height or weight;

I feel strong inside. " She could have added, " Spiritually," but she didn't, because she knew that Ward did not understand that part of her; in fact, she was aware he was a little afraid of that in her which he couldn't reach. And so, smiling now and holding his face between her hands, she said, " This time it will be a boy. And that will be a good thing, because Billy is getting on, you know, and you'll soon need another hand. "

"Shut up!" He held her to him.

"I don't care what it is, but what I care about is your health. And what is more, you have your hands full with that bouncer along the corridor there." He nodded towards the bedroom door.

"She's going to be a whopper; she must put on a pound nearly every day."

"Well, I said from the beginning she looks like you and takes after you."

"God forbid!"

"Oh Ward. She's beautiful now, and she'll grow more so. You'll see."

"What if it is a boy," he said, 'and takes after you and isn't able to lift a pitchfork, never mind carry a bale of hay? "