The Secret Journey (57 page)

‘Ah! Blast it!' he said. ‘The fact is, Maureen, you want jam on it.' He got up from the chair, adding, ‘Well, are you coming to the Bioscope?'

She followed him to the door, embraced him, saying, ‘Yes, of course. I'm silly, don't take any notice of me, will you? I'm only a working man's wife, as the papers say.' She kissed him. ‘About threeish.'

‘Yes, about three,' and he went off towards home.

‘She's not in a very good temper,' thought Anthony, ‘but, Christ, I never put her into a bad one. Damn it! I believe—yes, I'll go along and see George. That's the ticket. And if she's still in the same nasty mood, then she can stick in it, and Possie and I will go off to Brown's ourselves.'

When he returned to Hatfields he found his mother up to her eyes in work. She was, in fact, scrubbing the kitchen floor when he came in. ‘Maury and I are going to the cinematograph show, Mother. About half-past two. We'll be back about five.'

She looked up at him, her sud-covered hands resting on the bucket. ‘All right. Oh, by the way, if you look on the dressing-table in my room you'll find your father's letter. I don't see any reason why you shouldn't read it. At least you'll know what kind of a father you have,' and she went on with her work.

Anthony stepped across the patch where she was scrubbing, and went upstairs. Climbing stairs was a slow job. Halfway up he sat down to rest, then he went on. He found the letter, took the sheet out of the envelope and read it. Then he folded it up, put it back on the table and went downstairs. ‘Dad has a bit of common sense too,' he thought.

‘Why!' he said, as he appeared once more in the kitchen, ‘are you still at it, Mother?'

‘Still at it,' she said, without looking up, and flinging the floor-cloth down with a smack. ‘Hadn't you better hurry up if you're going to the show?'

‘Yes! If George should be here before I get back, will you tell him I'll see him about half-past seven this evening?' He put on his grey cap and fawn mackintosh. ‘Looks like a shower,' he remarked as he opened the front door. Mrs. Fury did not hear him.

‘Did you read your father's letter?' she asked.

‘Yes, Mother! I read it! He's not worrying much, is he?'

‘He never did,' she replied. ‘Are you going next door this evening?'

‘Yes! Why?'

‘Nothing! It doesn't matter, anyhow. Maybe I'm an old fool to be bothering.'

‘You are, Mother! What are you bothering about this time? Why, it is raining!' he said, seeing the first drops upon the window pane.

‘Oh, nothing,' she said. ‘I'll tell you when you come back. Be off with you.'

In the cleaning shed, where Peter Fury was already busily occupied with oil-can and rag, Mr. Andrew Postlethwaite, working on the same engine, had been spending the last twenty minutes doling out good advice. It is probable that this same advice would have passed into one ear and out of the other. But, thanks to the incessant din going on, Peter Fury had not heard a single word. Each time his head appeared from behind the boiler he caught sight of Mr. Postlethwaite, and would see his mouth moving, though what he said was swallowed up in the great noise. Tireless, the old man continued: ‘You see, Fury—you're nothing like the mug your old man was, and if you take my advice——' And so on and so on.

Peter Fury was occupied by thoughts of his own. It was going to be very awkward now that his brother was home. It wouldn't be so easy to keep one's own company. And Anthony—well, he'd think him just a prig.

‘Oh! we'll see! We'll see! But I'll see Sheila to-night no matter what happens. And this time I'll tell her what I think. She won't fool me any longer. I made a bloody beast of myself through her. Yes, just to spite her. And that other can go to the devil too—with her damned abysses of loneliness, and her fat greasy face and her bloody money. She can do what she likes. If she makes a move with Mother—that'll be another matter. She's got Mother on the string. She's got her scared of her own shadow. But they're all like that. Damned moneylenders. They can't have any feelings at all. H'm! I suppose she thinks I get quite a kick out of amusing her. As for that other pig——' The whistle blew. ‘What, five already! Hell!'

He followed Mr. Postlethwaite out of the shed. They crossed two sets of rails and walked along that narrow wooden platform to the bridge. Suddenly Peter Fury stopped. One could look down into the street from this bridge. What had made him look round he did not really know. It was as if he had felt the presence in the air. He could see a woman standing outside the green door. He knew at once it was Sheila Fury. His heart began thumping.

Mr. Postlethwaite shouted, ‘Coming, Peter my lad?' but Peter never answered, and he waited until the old man had gone. He waited until he had made his appearance outside that green door. If she turned—if she looked his way, he'd wave to her. He saw Andrew Postlethwaite leave the door. He had not noticed Sheila Fury. She was standing on the opposite side of the road. Had anybody else seen her? Looking back, Peter could see other men clambering over the points. They were coming his way.

‘I'd better go and chance it. But I wonder why she wants me now? I wonder why she's come here—of all places?'

His mind confused, his body answering to the very thrill which the sight of her presence had inspired, he hurried over the bridge, dashed down the steps, and ran all the way through the wooden tunnel to the door. She saw him, raised her hand, but did not move. She was being as cautious as he. After a final look round, he went over to her.

‘Sheila?' he said.

‘Yes, Peter! Sheila. Let's go away from here! I don't want to be recognized. This way.' She pulled at his arm. ‘I had to come! It was awkward. I didn't know
when
I might see you after that night. I half believe you were angry with me.' She seemed on the verge of crying, but controlled herself. ‘I had to come. Something's happened. But let's get as far away from this place as possible. Oh, I can't explain now.' She commenced to walk faster. Peter stepped out.

They were in a small street, houseless. It contained a leather warehouse, a cotton warehouse, empty stables, one large, empty, and dilapidated furniture repository, and a broken-down house, which was unoccupied.

‘Stand in here,' she said.

‘Dear Sheila! How lovely of you to come! How lovely!' And he held her in his arms. But somehow she did not respond. The something magnetic, the something tense, something joyous, that he had used to feel, he could not feel it now. She seemed like ice. Yet—yes, it was the same Sheila, the same face, same eyes, same body. Everything was the same. But she seemed cold and lifeless. Even her smile seemed a mockery.

‘Dear Sheila! Tell me now. What has happened? Must you go home directly? Tell me!'

She looked at him, her face sad and thoughtful. ‘You see—oh no! I simply can't talk here! And I must go back by eight. You see—I've promised. Oh, take me anywhere, anywhere!'

‘Shall we go into the dining-room round the corner? It may be empty, and it may be full of men having tea. Let's go. I'm curious and excited—yes, and happy. How do you like my appearance this evening? And my brand new overalls? I've begun a new life to-day.'

She said nothing. They ran out of the doorway. There were only two men in the dining-room. They went in and took a table right in the corner, and this fortunately was poorly lighted. Here they were safe. Peter ordered tea; in his excitement he stammered, and had to repeat the order for two mugs of tea and two Chester cakes. They seemed to ransack each other with their eyes, and not until the woman had served them and left them alone did she speak.

PART III

CHAPTER XV

There could be no doubt about it whatever. Anna Ragner, stripped of that long, black, velvet dress, was a changed woman. Such was the oft-recurring thought of Daniel Corkran, who at this moment, though aware that something was happening, and something indeed that was bound to arouse the curiosity of the most indifferent, yet continued with his work at the kitchen table. A great many things were passing through Mr. Corkran's mind as he worked desperately to get the last circulars inside the envelopes. A huge pile of envelopes already lay addressed alongside the General Directory. Something was happening that struck at the very root of Daniel Corkran's ideas concerning Banfield House. Business was on the down-grade. Unfortunately, too, it was almost impossible to approach Mrs. Ragner upon the subject. To-morrow, perhaps; he might have ventured the matter last night, in fact, but it seemed that each time he saw her she was minus what Daniel Corkran called her natural skin. It was impossible to deal with such a pressing matter, to confide in a lady who was wearing a gay silk dress of pink and white, whose face was lighted up with an everlasting smile, her eyes seeming to dance, as though something in the air itself had transfigured her overnight. Mr. Corkran was conscientious, and he was courteous. Entirely unknown to Mrs. Ragner, he had already addressed some seven hundred circulars. An examination of the accounts in the ledger proved to Mr. Corkran that quite a number of people were behind in their payments. Surely Anna must have noticed this. Only last night he had had occasion to remark upon a loan that never had been repaid at all—the person having fled. ‘Why is she neglecting her business like this? And then the other extraordinary thing is that the way she's dealing with this woman at Hatfields is not to my liking at all. In fact, it's striking at the very principle of the business. All since we got her signature for the fresh loan—at least
I
did, but it isn't granted, and not only is it not granted, but no mention is ever made of the absolute indifference with which this woman treats us. I certainly believe she will lose in this case. This woman Fury is more worry than enough! What I say is, that if I had my way I would call for a settlement at once. That would certainly fix her. The sooner she's off our books the better. That's how I feel. Something's not quite right, and I know it, and she knows it. There she is now, stuck in her room, dressing up again, and all for nothing. She must be crazy, absolutely crazy, to imagine that a young pup like that can fall in love with her. I do believe I could still teach Anna the essentials—yes, even the niceties of her own business. If she had followed my advice she could have had their eldest son on her book, and so roped in the family. There is a man whose very face shows how hungry he is for money. And with a wife like that—well, Anna's slow, that's what I say. A guaranteed income for life from that family if she only knew it. Why is she so stupid and stubborn when I suggest things to her? Anyhow, I'll take the liberty of sending one of our circulars to Prees Street. You never know your luck. And that'll do for the day.' Daniel Corkran addressed a circular to Mr. and Mrs. D. Fury, 14 Prees Street, blotted it, stamped it, and put it on top of the pile. ‘I expect this craziness will pass off. But she will ruin herself and her business if she doesn't watch out. Who'd have thought it? Taking to a young fellow like that! I did tell myself once that it was strategy on her part to get the fellow into her hands—but now I reject that idea. After seeing her strange antics these last few days I've changed my mind. Last night—well, I think she took the biscuit. He'll never come! He's had enough! He's laughing up his sleeve. He does well to keep away, too. He's scared of me, I could tell right away. The longer he keeps away, the better for her and the better for me. She'll come to her senses. She actually thinks she's fallen in love with him. It makes me laugh! Her, who used never to bother with silly things like that—and the antics. She's never out of her bedroom. Always straightening the sheets, or tupping the pillow, and glancing through the window, and turning round quickly as though she imagined that there was somebody at her shoulder all the time. I wonder what she's doing now? She almost rushed the clients away to-night. Ah! Bad business! Bad business! She's not her natural self at all, Mrs. Ragner isn't, and who knows her better than I do? Me, Corkran. Three nights now, hanging about, waiting, and each time the same result. Nothing doing. One can see how angry she is—one can almost feel it coming out of her. Fool! She ought to attend to her business! Love! Such balderdashed business! That's what I say! And keep the clients at a respectable distance. Yes, sir! At a respectable distance. And let her see that every penny is accounted for.'

Daniel Corkran pushed back the table to the wall. Looking at the clock, he smiled, saying to himself, ‘Don Juan won't come now! I wish something would happen. If he only came and told her he's making a fool of her! That might bring her up sharp. The world's full of men—aye, men who'd only be too glad to marry her for her money. But she prefers to pretend. Mrs. Ragner, you're a moneylender, and being one, you'd better stay one. You're only a silly fool when you're like this, and at bottom you aren't really. You're a clever person. Then why not go on being your own self, instead of all this arguing you're in love? You weren't made for that, Mrs. Ragner, and that's a fact. And neither was I, for you told me so yourself.'

He went out of the kitchen. It was just turned half-past ten. Mr. Corkran extinguished the light in the hall. The whole front part of the house was now in darkness. He went down, and without a sound drew the green curtains together which hung at the bottom of the wide staircase. He went on and stood outside the sitting-room. He knew she must be in here. She certainly wasn't in the back room. Besides, if the bell rang, or the knock she waited for came to the door, she would not hear it very well in the back sitting-room.

‘Yes,' he thought, ‘she's in there!'

He knelt down, and put his eye to the keyhole and looked through.

‘She's got on a pure white dress this evening.'

Anna Ragner had been sitting in the arm-chair looking through an old photograph album. As though she sensed her servant's approach, she had risen and was now standing against the mantelshelf. Mr. Corkran's all-powerful eye had to be content with only a view of the lower part of her person. Her feet moved. She leaned first on the right foot, then on the left. She made a pace forward and then stopped. Once she dropped her hands to her sides. Daniel's eye seemed to grow even larger as it stared through the keyhole. Suddenly he saw her come towards the door. He stepped back, got behind the curtains, wrapped himself in a fold, and waited. The door opened. Mrs. Ragner came out, looked up and down. The hall was now flooded with light from the powerful lamp in the sitting-room. Looking at her dress, the third different dress he had seen in as many days, it occurred to him that the top part of it seemed even more scanty than the previous pink-and-white one. He could see clearly enough, as though he were looking in a mirror, the whole of the top part of her body. Might it be that this changing of dress, its very shape and cut, and the way it hung, seemed as a sort of barometer of Mrs. Ragner's thoughts and feelings? To wear a dress as scanty as this, at least at the top, seemed to Mr. Corkran to mirror a sort of desperateness, as though the woman, overwhelmed by the paroxysms of her passion, had become its slave. She could hide it no longer.