The Secret Journey (58 page)

‘And what else can it be?' he thought, as he saw the animated look on her face, the brilliance of her eyes—how they seemed to shine—the partly opened mouth, shaped as though for some sudden flood of speech, the trembling lips, the movement of her hands, the workings of the muscles of her face as she looked first one way and then another, and in the flashing moment that her head turned towards the kitchen the expression upon the face changed, and then passed like a sudden breath as she looked the other way towards the door.

‘I only feel sorry for you, you fool,' he thought. ‘You are losing your power, your dignity, yes, and I feel this humiliation just as though I were you. I, Corkran, spying on you behind this green curtain. If you were waiting for a broker, or a cheque, or a registered letter, I—but this waiting for a young pup—and the son of a client. Lord, woman, have you forgotten what a client is? Are you going completely off your head? Isn't it your business to lend money and to get it back again, but over and over and over again, instead of acting as though the sun had affected your head? Where'll I be—I, Corkran—when they commence to laugh? You don't know it—and anyway, what would be the use of telling you now, standing there panting like a racehorse—half-naked—but I've got almost as much power as you. I've sucked it from you!'

Behind the curtain he grinned. He seemed hardly to breathe. Mrs. Ragner went back into the room and closed the door. Something told Daniel not to move, and a second later she came out again, went down the hall and switched on the red light. She stood under it as though she were waiting. She seemed to be listening. In the hall her quiet breathing seemed like the faint drum-beats of a retreating band.

‘Damn fool! she'll catch cold and then she'll die.'

Then she came back down the hall. As she put her foot on the stairs, Corkran became rigid against the wall. The curtain was flung back. She was climbing the stairs. At the top she paused, looked round, and went along the landing. Corkran, hearing the door close, crept up the stairs. He went straight into the back room. By standing on a chair he could look through a hole in the white painted woodwork.

‘There, she's at it again.'

And there was no longer any doubt at all—so far as Daniel Corkran, faithful servant for many years, was concerned—but the woman completely changed as she threw on her velvet dress. Sitting in any dress but
that
, she could never conduct her business. She could never check interest, issue letters, order bailiffs to carry out their work, spin nets, as she looked first at the customer and then at the ledger, the seat and throne of her power, of all she was and could ever be. When Corkran looked again, she was standing in front of the mirror. She crossed to her bed, the sheets of which she drew back. She then ran her hand down the bed. She picked up the pillow, shook it, ruffled it, and turning it the other way, laid it on the bolster. Mr. Corkran could see her quite clearly now.
Was
this Mrs. Ragner? Or was he really dreaming? She was smiling, her eyes seemed to dance in her head. There wasn't a single line on her face. And, moreover, she looked young, happy, her eyes were lighted up with enthusiasm. How could she look like this, wearing her velvet dress, with that gleaming necklace so strongly contrasted upon the black of the dress? In fact, how could she be Mrs. Ragner at all?

‘This has been going on since twenty past nine,' he said to himself. ‘Does she know I'm watching her? Would she begrudge the pastime—at least, to one who has stood by her for so long?'

To Mr. Corkran's surprise, the light in the bedroom went out. This sudden blacking out of the woman made Daniel Corkran think: perhaps she had seen him—perhaps she had heard him.

‘Yet I never made a sound!'

Mr. Corkran stood motionless. In such black darkness any sound might be heard, and he, too, was in darkness. Whilst the light was on, he did have an idea as to where he stood, but now, it being out, Mr. Corkran was left stranded in the blackness. Well, he could not stay here. What Anna Ragner was thinking and feeling was of no interest to him. Mr. Corkran was only interested in action.

‘She's tired. She's fed up with waiting. In the morning she'll be like a cat—a wild cat. Well, I can't stand here all night.'

He bent down, took off his rope shoes and stood down from the chair. The bathroom door was open. Mr. Corkran went out. As he descended the stairs, he moved so quickly he seemed to be floating in the air.

‘Am I seeing ghosts?' he said to himself, ‘or is that her in the hall? How the devil is that? She was in the bedroom a second ago.'

Yes. She was there, standing by the front door.

‘How long has she been there? Does she expect a miracle? Oh, you fool!'

Nobody in the world was more certain of a miracle than Anna Ragner herself. That he would come, she had not the slightest doubt.

‘I want him to come! I want him to come! I'll give him my money—all my money,' she kept saying under her breath. ‘Come! Come! Come!'

Since twenty past nine she had been possessed by feverish excitement, by a certain delicious anticipation. Mrs. Ragner had been thinking of nothing. She had only been feeling, feeling with a certain rapture, and a sort of dead hopelessness. If he came twice, why didn't he come now? Or hadn't she been clever enough with him? Or was it that he didn't want her money any more? That Corkran was spying upon her mattered little. In fact, Corkran mattered no more. She never saw him. Flesh and soul, he had vanished into thin air. She saw, during her many excursions in and out of rooms, up and down the stairs, along the hall, behind doors and through windows, she saw many things. She saw, as a vast black void, the utter emptiness of her life; she saw herself standing stark-naked before the bed,' the abyss of her loneliness'; she saw herself reclining on the couch, standing trembling in the darkness of the hall; she saw herself everywhere in the same way—heart thumping, hand to her ear, listening, and watching her all the while an eye, not Corkran's eye, but the eye of Peter Fury. She was ever conscious of this eye, it could strip her, it could set the blood drumming, it could enfold her—shut out the black void of an empty and useless life. In her every movement under that ever-watchful eye was she betrayed. She was aware of a certain voluptuous feeling that momentarily hid from sight and mind the utter wretchedness that lay buried beneath it. At forty years of age, something had happened in Anna Ragner's life. She wanted to be loved. She struck at the soundboard of her very heart, and only a harsh voice announced from its depths. She had spent a whole hour dressing herself in front of the mirror. She had admired herself, smiled at herself. But he had not come! Peter Fury, who could turn her head from the wretchedness, had not kept his word. Knocks came to the door. She ran on to the landing, watching, listening. Three times Corkran answered the door. Where was Corkran now? Still spying on her, she supposed.

Now she was standing by the door, and she was waiting for the miracle.

Mr. Corkran, looking at her from between the curtains, had been wondering how he was to get back to the kitchen without being seen. All this seemed fantastic. Could he ever have imagined that this sane, intelligent woman could so have changed?

‘How she seems to cringe as she stands there. With that bent back of hers, one might imagine she was tensing herself for a blow from behind. Why should she stand there, all this time, waiting? She'll wait all night, for if I know anything, he won't show his face here again. He's had his little amusement, and he's through! Yes, he can even buy brooches for that other woman with her money. The damn fool! If she were guided by me, she would never regret. She's only got one thing in the world, and that's money. That's all the power she has. And soon she won't have any. I'll have the power,
and
her money. Be patient, Daniel, there's a good time coming, after all these years. Christ! Will she never go?'

Even as he said this, Mrs. Anna Ragner returned to her room. Daniel Corkran slid from behind the curtain and rushed back into the kitchen. It was a quarter to eleven.

‘If she thinks he'll come now, well …'

Putting on his coat, he picked up the pile of addressed envelopes, put them under his arm, and, no longer concealing his whereabouts, marched off down the hall. The front door had just closed. Mr. Corkran saw nothing very significant in that, even though he realized that a moment ago it was shut and bolted. Nothing so far as he was concerned was more significant than the pile of envelopes he now carried under his arm—a good day's work which would be completed when he had seen every single one drop inside the red pillar-box. Here, under Daniel Corkran's arm, was the very voice of the firm, about to make itself heard, about to spread itself around in the dark places of Gelton, even from Instone Road to Prees Street. New territory, Prees Street, and any good results would be to his credit, and his alone.

‘Of course, business is falling off here—no doubt about that. But it might be the very reverse at the town office. How do I know? She tells me nothing. A good job she hasn't got him trailing after her down there. Yes, business would be in a mess.'

He let himself out, closed the door, and went off down the steps. He passed right by Mrs. Ragner, but did not see her. She, however, could see him. He had crossed the road and was now putting the letters into the pillar-box. Anna Ragner drew her big coat tighter about her, felt to see if she had the door-key in her pocket, and then hurried off down the path. There seemed nothing strange about her going out now. She looked round to see Corkran running across the road back to the house. She heard the door slammed. Mrs. Ragner went on. If anybody had suggested that her walk at eleven o'clock at night was a most unusual thing, Mrs. Ragner would have been very surprised indeed. Her feet were carrying her towards the Instone Road. It was now ten past eleven. A few people were about. Some night workers, a few late theatre-goers, a policeman, a tramp, a prostitute. All these Anna Ragner passed in her journey down the Instone Road. Twice she stepped back into a shop doorway convulsed by the same curious feeling. She imagined that when the footsteps drew near she would suddenly dash out—and—it would be him. Her young man. Her own young man. The pock-marked face of the prostitute became Peter Fury's face, the quick breathing of the hurrying workmen was none but his breathing. The suspicious look in the policeman's face was none other than Peter's. He, Peter, was abroad, and she was certain she would find him. Why did he treat her like that? Hadn't she given him enough money? Why did he stay away? And that Corkran was laughing at him. But then Corkran was only a thing, he wouldn't understand. She was alive—alive—burning with love for him. ‘Where are you? Where are you?' she kept repeating under her breath. ‘Can't you understand me? Can't you understand?' The laughter of these home-bound theatre-goers was his too. ‘I'll find him! He is only playing a game with me! He is hiding. He knows he must come. He likes money. I knew that right from the start.' Why shouldn't she meet him? Her thoughts were coloured by this one and only possibility, of sudden confrontation with that being who had played such havoc with her feelings, who had ransacked the hidden fastness of her heart. Why shouldn't she meet him? Why should a miracle not happen? This delirious and fragmentary hope carried Anna Ragner to the end of the Instone Road. There she stopped. She wouldn't be angry with him—indeed she would be the very reverse. If it was more money he wanted, why didn't he say so? The silly boy. The silly fool. ‘You silly, delightful, beautiful young man, I'll give you anything you want. But don't mock me. Don't torment me. Don't lie to me by saying you'll come. Don't lie like your mother, when she says she'll come personally with my money and doesn't come at all.' She turned into Harbour Road, and she increased her pace. Here in this road anything might happen. She might even bump into him. But Harbour Road was quite deserted. Not a sound; Gelton had given itself up to sleep. ‘I am not Mrs. Ragner! That is wrong. I am myself, myself.' Here was the King's Road. How different the air seemed. The streets were very narrow, lights few, and there came to her nostrils an unmistakable stench that could be none other than that of burning bones. This was the end of the King's Road. She stood looking about. Yes! She knew the place, Price Street, Hatfields, Dunfield Square—the clock shop. In Price Street some parlour windows were still lighted. People seemed to go very late to bed in these parts. Then there came to her ears the sound of singing. She went slowly up Hatfields. A chink of light from a parlour window fell like a silver spear upon the grey pavement. Outside this home Anna Ragner stopped to listen. A woman was singing. The words, quite distinct, seemed to float into the street, to flood her ears. Beneath this the low murmur of other voices, seeming like some hidden choir. And the woman sang clearly into the night:

‘Oh for the days of the Kerry Dances! Oh for the ring of the Piper's Tune! Oh for one of those homes of gladness——'

Mrs. Ragner leaned against the wall and listened. Suddenly the song ceased and clapping began. Then the whole street resounded with laughter.

‘If I could only laugh,' she thought. She crouched by the wall, as though in terror of being discovered. She was without head-covering, and her head was lowered. She seemed to be staring at her brown shoes, and there was a kind of glint in the dark hair massed about her ears. She stood quite still, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, hearing nothing but the laughter that seemed to flow in waves from the house outside which she stood, as though she were caught and imprisoned by this human laughter. After a while she drew herself up and exclaimed, ‘The mean wretch!'

She walked slowly back to Banfield Road. It was a quarter-past twelve when she let herself in with the key. Mr. Corkran heard the click of the lock, heard the door close, and a few seconds later she passed his room. He was still dressed, and lying on the bed.