‘Don’t frash yourself, ’cos you know as well as I do the law would say she had a right. They would take no heed that his feelings had changed.’ She nodded now at Charlotte. ‘Oh, aye, Janie told me he wouldn’t go back to her, he had told her so to her face, and that must have been hard to stomach. So havin’ the satisfaction that he wanted you, and seemingly not just for what you could give him, it should be in your heart, and it wouldn’t do you any harm, to let her have a glimpse of him.’
‘I can’t.’
Lizzie now got to her feet and heaved a sigh before she said, ‘Well, if you can’t, you can’t, but I’d like to remind you of one thing, or point it out, so to speak. As I see it, you should be holding nothing against her. You’ve got nothin’ to forgive her for except for being alive She’s done nothin’ willingly to you. The boot’s on the other foot. Oh aye—’ she dropped her chin on to her chest—‘it was all done in good faith, legal you might say, but nevertheless it was done. How would you feel this minute if you were in her place? Would you be sitting all night in the stables hoping to catch a glimpse of him afore he went?’
Charlotte sat slowly down on the couch again and, bending her long body forward, she gripped her hands between her knees.
It was some time, almost five minutes later when she whispered, ‘Take her up. But . . . but I mustn’t see her; I . . . I will stay here for half an hour. That is, if . . . if he doesn’t need me.’
She was somewhat surprised when she received no answer. Turning her head to the side, she saw Lizzie walking slowly down the room. She was a strange woman, forthright, domineering, and she had no respect for class . . . of any kind. Yet there was something about her, a comfort.
She lay back on the couch and strained her ears now to the sounds coming from the hall. She heard nothing for some minutes, then the front door being closed and the soft padding of footsteps across the hall towards the stairs brought her upright. She was going up the stairs, that girl, his wife, she was going up to their bedroom, to hers and Rory’s bedroom. And she would be thinking she was going to see her husband. No! No, not her husband, never any more. Hadn’t he told her she could do what she liked but he’d never return to her?
She’d be by his bedside now looking at him, remembering their love, those first days in the boathouse.
‘My wife won’t be there, miss, but you’re welcome.’ She was back sitting behind the desk again looking at him as he told her he was married.
She almost sprang to her feet now. She couldn’t bear it, she couldn’t bear that girl being up there alone with him. She must show herself. She must let her see that she was the one he had chosen to stay with, not someone who was seven years her junior, or young and beautiful, but her, as she was . . . herself.
She was out of the drawing-room and running up the stairs, and she almost burst into the bedroom, then came to a dead stop and stared at the three women standing round the bed, his mother, his aunt and the person in the black cloak who wasn’t a beautiful young girl but a strange-looking creature with dark skin and white frizzy hair; she was young admittedly, but she could see no beauty in her, no appeal.
She walked slowly up to that side of the bed by which Ruth stood and she stared across into the eyes of the girl called Janie. The eyes looked sad, weary, yet at the same time defiant.
A movement of Rory’s head brought their attention from each other and on to him. He was awake and looking at them.
If there had been any doubt in Rory’s mind that he was near his end it was now dispelled. Janie and Charlotte together. Through the fire in his body was now threaded a great feeling of sadness. He wanted to cry at the fact that this was one game he was going to lose. The cards were all face up, and his showed all black . . . dead black. But still he had played his hand, hadn’t he? The game had been short but it hadn’t been without excitement. No, no, it hadn’t. But now it was over . . . almost. He wished the end would get a move on because he couldn’t stand this pain much longer without screaming out his agony. Why didn’t they give him something, a good dose, that laudanum . . . laudanum . . . laudanum . . .
He was looking into Janie’s eyes now. They were as he remembered them in those far-off days before they were married when she was happy, because she had never really been happy after, had she? It was funny, but in a way Janie hadn’t been made for marriage. She looked it, she had the body for it, but she hadn’t been made for marriage, whereas Charlotte. Ah! Charlotte.
Charlotte’s face was close above his. He was looking up into her eyes. Charlotte. Charlotte was remarkable. Charlotte could forgive sins. She was like all the priests rolled into one. There’d been a priest here last night, hadn’t there? He couldn’t really remember. Well, if there had been he knew who would have brought him . . . A dose . . . Why didn’t they give him something?
‘Darling.’
It was nice to be called darling . . . Oh God! the pain. Why the hell didn’t they give him something? . . . Janie had never called him darling. She had said she loved him, that was all. But there was more to love than that, there was a language. Charlotte knew the language. Charlotte . . . Should he fight the pain, try to stay? He could hardly breathe . . . If only they’d give him something.
He closed his eyes for a second; when he opened them again he was looking at Lizzie. There was something in her face that was in none of the others. What was it? Why had he hated her so? It seemed so stupid now. Why had he blamed her as he had done? If there had been anybody to blame it was his father. Where was his father? He was surrounded by women. Where was his father? Where was Jimmy? They’d said Jimmy was near. Jimmy was all right. And his father? His father had a bad leg; his father had been burnt at the blast furnace . . . He had been burnt . . . Burnt. Burnt. He was back in the boathouse gasping, struggling. The floor was giving way. He slid Jimmy from his shoulder. He was getting out, he was getting out . . .
‘He’s asleep again. Leave him be, let him rest.’ Lizzie moved from the bed as she spoke, and Ruth followed her, leaving Janie and Charlotte standing one on each side.
Janie looked down on the man whose face was contorted with agony. She did not see him as the virile young man she had married, nor yet as the boy she had grown up with, but she saw him as the stranger, dressed as a gentleman, who had confronted her in the boathouse. Not even when he had looked into her eyes and recognized her a moment ago had she glimpsed the old Rory, but had seen him as someone who had transported himself into another world and made that world fit him—and having won that world, so to speak, and being Rory Connor, he was determined to hang on to his winnings.
She was the first to turn away from the bed. She knew she had looked at the face on the pillow for the last time and she could not, even to herself, describe how she felt.
As Charlotte watched her walking towards the door she was amazed that the turmoil in her mind had disappeared; she was feeling no jealousy against this girl now, no hate. Amazingly she was experiencing a feeling of pity for her. As Lizzie had said, put yourself in her place; she was the one who had been rejected.
She bent over Rory now and, the tears blinding her, she gently wiped the sweat from his face, murmuring all the while, ‘Oh my dearest, my dearest.’
When the door opened and Jessie entered she said brokenly, ‘I . . . I won’t be a moment. If the master should wake call me immediately,’ and Jessie whispered, ‘Yes, ma’am,’ and took her seat beside the bed once more.