The Secret Journey (21 page)

Without a word Peter followed him out. ‘There you are.' Mr. Corkran gave the visitor a gentle push. The door closed. Anna rose to her feet and said, ‘Good-evening. Please sit here.' She put a chair on the carpet near the fire. She sat opposite him. The black velvet dress had gone. In its place she wore a grey pleated skirt and a white blouse. Her arms were bare to the shoulders. In her head of thick black hair she wore a large comb, whose brilliants flashed under the light.

‘You are very late,' she began, her eyes focussed upon the dirty envelope in Peter's hand. ‘I can only see people up to nine o'clock. Give me the note, please?'

Peter handed it to her. ‘How neatly, how deftly she opens letters,' Peter was saying to himself. Some coins fell out, and he picked them up and placed them lightly on Mrs. Ragner's knee. The woman did not look up. She was reading the letter a second time.

‘Corkran!' she called. ‘Corkran!' And that faithful, indefatigable gentleman appeared as if by magic.

‘Sit down, Corkran,' she said. She paid not the slightest attention to the youth in the chair before her. She crushed Mrs. Fury's letter into a ball and flung it into the grate as she said to Mr. Corkran, ‘Was it Monday you went to the Loco Sheds?'

‘Yes, mam,' said Mr. Corkran. He began smoothing out his moustache, thoroughly soaked in pomade.

‘Don't do that, Corkran. Haven't I told you I loathe the habit? Did you see the man or did you not?' she went on. ‘Perhaps you had better bring me in the ledger.'

‘Very well, mam.'

She followed him to the door with her eyes, and kept them focussed there until he returned. Peter Fury, so far as Mrs. Anna Ragner was concerned, no longer existed. Mr. Corkran returned with the ledger.

‘Put it down there,' she said, pointing with her finger at the mahogany table.

‘How many nights did you attend there?' she continued, looking hard at Mr. Corkran.

‘Three! On the first occasion I was quite unsuccessful. But last night I met a foreman there. I was told that the father had left there. Naturally I tried to find out as much as I could. I asked why. He said he didn't know, but I assumed then that he knew where I had come from. He wouldn't say another word. But it is quite definite that he has gone.'

‘Your fame is increasing, Corkran,' remarked Anna Ragner.

The factotum's glance had suddenly shifted from the buxom lady to the youth. Peter Fury was quietly contemplating his finger-nails, his hands stretched out before him.

‘Will that be all, mam?' asked the factotum.

‘Yes. Just look up F in the register, then you may go.' She turned to Peter.

His degree of absorption had increased, for he held his right hand in the air against the light. But this upraised hand was in that position for no other purpose than to peer at Mrs. Ragner through the slits of his fingers. Whether this method gave him any greater satisfaction than a naked contemplation of her person was a matter that now occupied Anna Ragner's mind. Mr. Corkran had departed to his own corner of the house. Anna Ragner said quickly, ‘Why do you stare at me through your fingers, young man?' whereon Peter sat up, blushed, looked sheepishly about the room and then replied:

‘Pardon me! I wasn't staring at you but studying the shape of my hand against the light.'

‘How extraordinary! How is it that your father has left his work on the railway and I have not been informed of the matter? Mr. Corkran has been to the sheds twice, and only learned yesterday that your father gave up work there some days ago. Is this true?'

‘My father has gone to sea,' said Peter. The more he studied this woman, the more he thought of his mother's relation with her, the more he realized that a personal note was but one of the concessions allowed in return for a loan. More, the most intimate and sacred things were dragged into the light. A sudden revulsion seized him and he said loudly:

‘Excuse me, Mrs. Ragner, but I take it that my father can leave or go to a job without having to inform you of the matter first.'

‘First, yes,' said Mrs. Ragner. ‘It is part of our agreement, and one which is obligatory upon all borrowers, that we know the whereabouts of the head of the household. You see, it is upon him that we eventually place the responsibility. It seems to me, however, that your mother is acting most unwisely in this matter. I presume your father knows nothing whatever about it?' went on Mrs. Ragner. ‘We do not, of course, lend out money without taking certain precautions for our business. This is not a philanthropist's office. Your mother has twice been asked to call here upon a matter which it would be wise for her to attend to at once. But she ignores my notes and sends you.'

She took up the ledger and opened it. Then she became absorbed in the maze of figures in front of her. She looked up from the book.

‘I can't understand why your mother omitted to inform me about your father leaving his work. What wage does your father earn?'

‘That I don't know,' replied Peter. He could scarcely conceal his impatience and annoyance. To have come here at ten minutes to nine with a note, and to have been kept there until nearly ten o'clock, answering questions, giving facts and figures—in brief, opening the door upon all that was intimate and sacred in his mother's life, and not only her life, but his father's, his own, his grandfather's, Maureen's.

The woman was inexhaustible, a huge sponge sucking up facts, figures, and histories.

‘You don't know,' responded Anna Ragner gruffly, ‘and you go to sea. You seem ignorant when I thought you were most intelligent. Come now. Don't be shy. We don't want shyness here. What does your father earn?'

‘I tell you I don't know,' replied Peter. ‘Ship's firemen earn four pounds a month if that is any help.'

He was filled with a desire to leap from the chair, to strangle this creature who went on in the same cold and efficient manner.

‘Does she receive an advance note, or monthly money?'

‘I don't know. Why do you ask me all these questions? I know nothing of my mother's business, of what goes on in the house.'

‘How foolish your mother is!' remarked Mrs. Ragner. ‘The amount is well in arrears, and it seems the time has come to talk plainly. Is this Mr. Kilkey, who went surety for your mother, is he
always
in constant work?'

‘So far as I know.'

‘What kind of a man is he? I know very little about him, having only met him the once. Does he drink? Does he look well after his home? You see, you are here and your mother is not. I hate to presume upon an opinion that I hold—but it does seem rather strange that your mother so consistently ignores my letters to her. And the amount is rising. Did she say why she could not come? She makes no mention of it in this letter, whilst the payment itself is short by three shillings and sixpence.' She went on talking, having quite forgotten her enquiry concerning Mr. Joseph Kilkey.

‘I know nothing whatever about it,' said Peter. ‘Are there any more questions? You see, it is ten o'clock. I have to go now.'

He looked desperately towards the door. What on earth was holding him like this? Why did he remain, seated there, when every instinct, every feeling bade him rise and go? Mrs. Ragner leaned across the table, and struck a bell. Almost immediately Mr. Corkran entered.

‘Sit down, Corkran,' she said and motioned him to a chair. ‘Tell me, Corkran—have you attended the court concerning that Owens affair yet?'

‘Not yet, mam,' replied the factotum. ‘It is on Friday at ten in the forenoon.'

‘That is good! Will you make a note of this for to-morrow, then?' She snapped the book shut and placed it on her knees.

There was something so extraordinary in the way this man and woman sat, in their attitude and expression of feature, that all desire to go had now left Peter Fury. He sat fascinated watching Mr. Corkran make notes in a little black book. He had come into the room without even glancing at the youth in the chair. He sat facing Anna Ragner, but he did not look at her, for Mr. Corkran was never a man to indulge in anything so human as direct glances. Those half-closed eyes, that now looked like slits of glass in the ashen face, looked over Mrs. Ragner's head, not at anything in particular, excepting the clock, the hands of which were showing at ten minutes past ten. It seemed rather strange to him that the woman should keep this youth talking for over an hour. What could she have in mind? It worried Mr. Corkran, for it seemed a departure from all rule and principle. There must be something in it. But what? He scrawled imaginary lines across the page of his book. Now Mrs. Ragner was speaking again. Peter Fury remained rigid in the chair. Such an extraordinary man and woman he had never seen before.

‘I want you to call at number thirty-five Price Street,' she was saying, ‘as a note was sent there six days ago, I believe, to which there has been no reply.'

She looked across at Peter, but he immediately evaded her glance.

‘I simply cannot understand how it is that people have so little sense of their obligations. They come, and I loan them money, and they thank you, but as soon as they have gone away they proceed to forget the very principle of the transaction. And I think you had better call and see this boy's mother. It seems that nothing but a personal call will achieve satisfaction, and the amount is rising.' She looked straight at Peter, and concluded. ‘You may go now, Corkran,' and Mr. Corkran promptly went out.

They were alone once more. All this time the coins she had taken from the envelope remained on her knee. She now swept them up and placed them on the table. She drew her chair closer to Peter Fury, thrust out her hands, and said, ‘Why are you so afraid of me? You are afraid, aren't you?'

‘Oh, I'm not,' said Peter, and he smiled at Anna Ragner. ‘Why should I be afraid?'

‘But you are,' she went on, putting her hands to her hair, and smoothing it back from her forehead. ‘You are afraid, as you are also ashamed. But why is that? I cannot understand it at all. Your mother was the same. Mr. Corkran has informed me on more than one occasion that you have been not a little rude to him. No one,' she went on with emphasis, ‘no one calls here except for two purposes. Either to borrow my money or to repay it. Briefly, all callers here are under obligations. Is that not so? It is one of the principles on which I conduct my business. Do you understand? I don't want callers here, especially when they are on my books, to be rude to Mr. Corkran. In fact, I won't allow it. They must be civil, and they must be patient, certainly not rude, and certainly not afraid to see me personally. As a matter of fact, Mr. Corkran told me that not only were you very rude to him, but by your attitude he sensed that you were afraid. Afraid to stand on my doorstep. Nonsense. When people have had my money they have lost any rights to be rude—or afraid, or ashamed, or anything else. I am not an ogre. You refused to see me, and wanted him to take the note. Such things are not done here, young man. I see
all
callers. You were in a hurry. But that is not any of my business.' She put out her hand, picked up the money from the table and dropped it into the black Gladstone bag at her side. She slipped the lock on this, and put the bag under the chair. Peter Fury watched her every movement. He was fascinated. He had hardly spoken a word—offered no comments—merely answered her questions. For the rest he was content to listen, to sit watching her, with a gradually increasing wonderment and curiosity.

However had his mother come to be linked with such a person? There was something about her, a sort of atmosphere that seemed to alienate her from ordinary people. And yet there was nothing greatly astounding about Anna Ragner, unless it was those short, fat hands, with those heavy gold rings, from which he could not take his eyes. They held him as in a vice. Their shape, their fatness, the cautious way in which they moved, and the way the little fingers of each hand crooked themselves around the fourth finger. He had noticed all these little things. The sum total of all curiosity and fascination lay there. They were living things. They were endowed with a life and purpose of their own. Her face was not attractive, it was full, round, and very red. She was inclined to stoutness, a little over medium height, and her manner of dressing her hair enhanced the severity of expression. When she smiled it seemed quite out of place on those features, which, in spite of the rosy cheeks with which nature had endowed her, yet seemed cold, ice-like, non-human; a face devoid of any human warmth. The eyes mirrored nothing, conveyed nothing. So it seemed to Peter Fury as he sat and looked at her. A being from whom all spiritual essence had been sapped. Those hands might strike in vain upon the sounding-board of all human emotions, and there remained only for her the echo of the harsh voice. What a curious creature, to live alone in that big, ugly house—and with such a man. Trance-like, he watched every movement of those hands. The clock hands showed half-past ten.

‘Your sensibilities arouse my curiosity,' Mrs. Ragner broke in suddenly, in that low heavy voice which seemed an outrage upon the silence of the room. ‘But at the same time it seems they deny you the opportunity of seeing clearly. All my clients come here, not in the way you come, with feelings of revulsion and shame, but in the only way that is decent. I am a human being like everybody else, and I demand a certain respect. Your face and your every action and expression reveal it—you feel you are besmirching yourself; you are proud, and your mother is proud, but I hate pride in people, Mr. Fury.'

It was the first time she had addressed him as Mr. Fury.

‘I lend your mother money, and your sister too. And, quite frankly, I am not satisfied. Mr. Corkran will call and see your mother to-morrow and tell her why. Since your mother will not come, it is necessary that I should ask you all these questions. I am now wondering whether the particulars given me by your mother, and entered in this book,' she struck the book with the palm of her hand, ‘are quite correct?'