Hatter's Castle by A. J. Cronin
‘What are you glowerin’ at?’ he demanded, after a moment ‘Have I not told ye to keep out of the way when me and Nessie are speakin’ together? When we want you we’ll ask for you. I told you when ye entered this house again that you were to keep your paws off her, so see that you do it. I’m not wantin’ her spoiled like her namby-pamby mother spoiled the rest o’ ye.’
She was about to leave the room, knowing this to be the most effectual manner of curtailing his resentment against her, when suddenly the front door bell rang loudly, and she paused at the unexpectedness of the occurrence. Such traffic as came to the house, chiefly from the tradesmen of the Borough, was to the back door, and for the front bell to ring thus was a rare event, so unusual now that Brodie looked sharply up, and exclaimed to her, after a moment:
‘See what it is!’
She went to the door and opened it, revealing to her own gaze a messenger, who stood upon the steps of the porch bearing in his hand a medium-sized parcel, and who now touched his cap, saying interrogatively:
‘Miss Mary Brodie?’
She nodded, her eyes fixed in some dismay upon the package which he was now apparently delivering into her hands and which, from the smooth brown paper and neat pink cord which enclosed it, she knew to be no ordinary parcel, no clumsily wrapped groceries from a local store, neither provisions nor anything which she had herself ordered, but a paragon of a parcel that she associated immediately in her mind with others bearing the same exclusive air, which had, at intervals descended mysteriously upon her during the last month. But these other packages had invariably come in the middle of the forenoon, at a fixed hour when she was always alone in the house and now, with a sudden anxiety besetting her, she demanded of the messenger the strange question:
‘Are you not late?’
He moved his feet uncomfortably, confirming the suspicion in her mind as he defended himself.
‘I’ve had a lot of deliveries,’ he said. ‘This came from Glasgow. I had to wait on it.’ He was glad apparently to see her accept the package without rebuking him, and clattered off without further speech, leaving her supporting the light weight of the neatly corded box as though it pressed her down into an acute discomfiture. These consignments of delicacies which had regularly arrived for her – enigmatically, yet so safely and opportunely – and which she had lavished upon Nessie with an unquestioning delight – was this another? With a beating heart she slowly closed the door and, her brain moving, actively, she slipped into the parlour, secreted the parcel under the sofa, and again re-entered the kitchen, hoping uneasily that her father would make no enquiry into the nature of the visitor. But she saw at once that this faint chance was impossible, that he was impatiently awaiting her return, even now lying back in his chair and fixing her with a large and curious eye.
‘Who was that at the door?’ Then at her silence he demanded, ‘Come along! What are ye standing so glaikit for? Who was it?’
‘It was only a message boy, father,’ she replied quietly, essaying to render her voice composed.
‘A message boy!’ he repeated incredulously. ‘Coming to the front door of the house! Gad! what have we got to put up with next.’ Then, his anger rising at a sudden thought, he exclaimed: ‘I’m not going to sit down under that sort of insult. Who sent him? Tell me and I’ll go in about it myself. Who was he from?’
‘I don’t know!’ she faltered.
‘Ye don’t know!’
‘No!’ she answered and still using every effort to conciliate him, hastily added, ‘ Never mind, father – it’ll not occur again. Don’t upset yourself.’
He looked at her for a moment with a lowering eye, noting her suppressed air of embarrassment, faint, yet clearly to be perceived against the pervading candour of her expression.
‘Show me the messages he brought,’ he ground out at her at length. ‘ I didna see you bring them in!’
‘They’re in the parlour,’ she replied in a low tone, making as though to move into the scullery. ‘ It’s only a parcel – nothing you would want to see.’
‘Get me what he brought,’ he insisted. ‘Look sharp about it too. I’ve a notion to look at this strange, disappearing parcel.’
‘Oh! father!’ she cried, ‘ can you not believe me?’
‘Get it!’ he roared, ‘or I’ll know that you’re a liar as well as the other thing.’
She saw that she must obey and, with a halting step, went out of the room and returned with the package in her hands.
He glared at it, surprised to find that there had, indeed, been a parcel but more astonished now at its unwonted appearance.
‘Pink ribbon,’ he muttered. ‘Gad, that’s rich!’ Then changing his voice abruptly, he sneered: ‘Would ye have me believe they send out our oatmeal with these falderals on it Open that box at once. I’ll see with my own eyes what’s inside.’
She knew that it was useless to protest further, and, with the fatal calmness of inevitable discovery, she took a knife from the table, cut the string and, after a few seconds, drew from their enwrapping packing of wool a large and luscious bunch of black grapes. He stared at them incredulously as they hung suspended from her hand before his startled eyes. It was an exquisite cluster, hanging in the dull room like an exotic blossom, each fruit large, firm, and perfect, and powdered with a bluish bloom as delicate and seductive as the haze upon a distant landfall. They dangled temptingly upon their thick, smooth stalk, fragrant with a rich sun-drenched odour, filled to bursting with their soft, juicy flesh, ready to melt upon the tongue in a subtle mingling of sweet, succulent flavours. Black grapes at this time! An unheard of, expensive, out of season luxury!
‘Where did these come from?’ he cried in a loud hectoring voice. ‘Who sent these?’
‘I don’t know, father,’ she answered truthfully, for, indeed, no note had ever accompanied these mysterious delicacies and she had only guessed vaguely, yet happily, that the sender had been Renwick.
‘You do know, you slut,’ he roared at her, ‘or why should you hide them.’ As he looked at her in an angry, baffled fashion, the memory rose before him of the deputation of godly, self-righteous women from the church who had called upon his wife during her illness to leave her fruit and jellies, and he cried: ‘Is it some o’ these blasted, snivelling women from the kirk that have sent them? Are we getting charity from the town? Is that what we’re come to? I suppose they’re sorry for you with such a poor mouth as you’re aye puttin’ on. Good God! they’ll be sending us tracts and soup next.’ He seized the bunch of grapes roughly from her hand, contemplating them contemptuously, but, as he did so, he realised something of the cost of the exquisite fruit before him, knew suddenly that no collection of church workers, however godly, could have sent them. A slow sneer spread over his face as he exclaimed: ‘ No! I think I see what’s at the back o’ it. We don’t know who sent them. It’s what they call an anonymous donor. God Almighty! are ye come back to that again, you trollop – back to your presents from your fancy men! Faugh! you sicken me.’ He looked at her with a snarl on his face, but she returned his gaze with a calm and steady eye, and it was poor Nessie, fortunately unobserved, who manifested some signs of confusion and distress.
‘You’re not going to eat them, though,’ he cried roughly. ‘No! not a single one. Ye may look at them as greedily as ye like, but you’ll not lip them. This is what’s going to happen.’ And, as he uttered the words, he dashed the grapes upon the floor with a pulping sound and in a fury stamped his heavy boots upon them, squelching the rich juice in all directions, crushing them into a dark mass that stained the grey linoleum like blood. ‘There!’ he shouted, ‘that’s the bitter winepress that I’m treading. This is my bitter path – but tread it I will. I only wish the swine that sent them was underneath my feet. I would serve him in like fashion whoever he may be. There – that’ll be something for ye to clean up – something to keep your mind off the men – you jade. A bit of scrubbin’ with take the itch out of ye,’ and as he spoke he scatte
After a moment he turned to Nessie and, in a completely opposite voice, soft, fond, wheedling, rendered deliberately contrasting to his one to Mary in order to wound her the more, remarked:
‘Come on, hinny – pay no attention to what you’ve seen – or to her, either. Ye don’t even need to speak to her in future if you don’t want to. This sort of thing does not concern you, and besides it’s time you and me had our dauner down the road together – we’ll have you late for the school if we don’t hurry up, and that would never do.’ He took Nessie’s hand and with a great demonstration of affection, led her timid form from the room, but not before she had flashed one frightened, guilty glance at Mary as she turned to go out into the hall.
When the front door closed behind them Mary sighed. She pulled herself up from where Brodie had thrown her against the wall, and although she gazed sorrowfully at the dirty, scattered remnants of the fruit which Nessie would now never eat, she felt with some relief, despite her own humiliation, that her sister had not been prejudiced by the recent unfortunate incident. The words which her father had hurled at her shamed her almost beyond endurance, whilst the injustice of his attitude made her bury her teeth into her lip to keep back the hot rush of indignant tears. Although she had no evidence but that of her own intuition, she knew that Dr Renwick in his kindness had sent her these grapes and indeed the other gifts, and now all the fine feelings of gratitude that she had entertained towards him, all her sacrifice for Nessie’s sake, had been degraded, thrust down into the mud by her father’s gross interpretation of them. She had made to feel again her position in the eyes of the world, reminded miserably of the smirch that lay upon her name which would cling to her in this town as long as her life endured.
With a faint shiver she bestirred herself and began to clear the table of its dishes, and when she had carried them into the scullery, she set herself slowly to wash and dry them. As she worked she directed her mind deliberately from her own position, considering with some return of comfort that Nessie seemed to be improving slightly in health, that although her long and forced periods of study continued, she was eating better, that her thin cheeks showed some signs of filling out. Nothing was too much for her to endure if she could protect her sister – make her well and strong. It was a supreme satisfaction to have been able to procure some better clothing for Nessie from her savings – the small stock of money that she had brought home to Levenford – and she cheered herself with the thought of the improved appearance of the child from the neglected state in which she had found her upon her return.
When she had dried and put away the last dish she took a bucket of warm water and a cloth into the kitchen, went down upon her knees, and began to wash the floor. While she was thus engaged she was suddenly confronted by a whimsical vision of Renwick’s face could he have observed her in her present occupation and perceived thus the grotesque result of his generosity. She did not, however, smile at her thought, but sighed again, considering that she would be obliged to ask him to discontinue these good-hearted offerings towards Nessie and herself. She had seen him on two occasions since her first visit to his house, and on each she had felt more forcibly, how compassionate he had been to interest himself so deeply on Nessie’s behalf; but somehow, she had begun to shrink from meeting him, to dread the onset of that strange feeling which swept over her whenever she felt his dark, sympathetic eyes upon hers. The remembrance of her father’s recent words now came to her suddenly, and even in her solitude within the room she winced, wondering unhappily what indeed was the nature of her regard for this man who had shown her nothing but kindness and friendship. It was a happy circumstance perhaps that he was soon to leave the town, that the uncertain and troubled state of her mind would soon be ended.
Strange, then, that as she considered this happy circumstance her face should cloud so sadly, that as she finished her washing of the floor, and sat down to busy herself on some mending for Nessie, her thoughts should refuse to leave him. He had told her to make her life a gallery of pictures, but her gallery contained now but one picture, and that was the portrait of his face. The kitchen, once so dirty and untidy, now lay about her clean and spotless; the rest of the house was equally immaculate; her main work was finished for the day; and yet, when she should have, taken up a book or engaged herself in some diversion, as he had directed, she could only sit and think of him. It was incredible!
True, her opportunities for relaxation were not unlimited for, although her return had caused no apparent ripple upon the surface of the life of the town, she shunned the public gaze, and lately had formed the habit of going out only when the dusk had fallen. Only once had she departed from this custom, when she had made a pilgrimage to Darroch to see the grave that enclosed Denis and her child. The same train had borne her, the same streets echoed to her sad, returning footsteps, but another name now stretched upon the signboard of the Lomond Vaults, and the doctor whom she had consulted on that last, unhappy visit had answered the call of his destiny and vanished, likewise, into some unknown obscurity. No bitter passion of grief had moved her as she stood by the grave that lay on the slope of Darroch Hill, but only a tender melancholy, directed chiefly towards the form of her infant child that lay so near her kneeling body, and was yet so inseparably divided from it. How strange, she had thought, that the throbbing body of the child that had lived so vigorously within her womb, should now lie buried in earth, detached from her for ever. Strange, too, that she, the mother, had never seen, and now could never see, that child. She had been still unconscious in the Cottage Hospital when, from exposure and its too early advent, it had died without her knowing – without her seeing it.
A sense of the injustice of the infant’s death had oppressed her as she rose to her feet and made her way out of the graveyard, feeling that she deserved her punishment, and accepting it, but thinking that her child had surely merited some short happiness of life. As she got into the train at the station upon her homeward journey she had felt that this visit was final – she would never return to that grave – and as the train steamed out of the station she had, through the cloud of her depression, faintly visioned upon the platform an illusive figure – the figure of Denis – waving her a brave, encouraging, and a last good-bye.
Now, as she sat at her sewing with a downward, pensive gaze, it was not the memory of this good-bye which filled her mind but the anticipation of another, a less visionary parting, and in the privacy of her own intimate thoughts she admitted to herself at last, abandoning her attempts at self-delusion, that it was hard for her to contemplate the departure of Dr Renwick from the town. She knew well the gulf that separated them, bridged only by his charity, but, conscious that her desire did not extend even to the presumption of friendship but merely to a longing for his presence near her, she felt it permissible for her to mourn his going. Levenford would be empty for her, then!
She could sew no longer, her eyes refused to see the stitches, the needle to enter the cotton of the garment; she was weeping at the thought of her loss, prompted, alas, by that emotion which presumed not even to friendship. In her agitation she arose, despising herself, wringing her hands at her own miserable weakness, and, as though she felt the need of a freer air than that within the room, made her way blindly out into the back garden where she paced up and down, striving to calm herself. As she walked, filled at last by a returning tranquillity, she suddenly observed that upon the lilac tree, which in her memory had never flowered, there now grew one large and perfect budding blossom. With a quickening interest she advanced and, gently pulling down the bough which bor
The afternoon wore on, dusk fell, tea-time came and passed, Nessie was again inevitably established in the parlour with her books, Brodie seated in the kitchen with his bottle and, the dishes once more washed and her house in order, she decided that she would fulfil her purpose to visit Dr Renwick and explain, with all the delicacy she possessed, her difficulty in accepted these gifts which he had sent for Nessie. It was permissible for her to go out; her movements, indeed, were not restrained in the evening so long as she did not visibly interfere with the progress of the studies within the parlour, and assuming her hat and coat, she slipped out of the back door – by which inferior avenue her father had now ordained that she should always enter and leave the house.