Our Time Is Gone (66 page)

She fidgeted about with the borrowed hat, suffered a sudden pang too, thinking of the hat that
was
her own, pushed straying hair from sight, saw her somewhat sunken eyes. ‘I have changed a
bit
. I wonder if he'll—I wonder what he's like?' She asked herself this question so many times that now it came quite automatically, it somehow fitted in with the train's metallic rhythm.

‘I wonder what he's like?'

Nearly two years. No. Just over!' Let me think.' She didn't know. Couldn't remember. ‘If I'd my bag,' she said. But she hadn't. The black bag was elsewhere, and what it contained was no longer living history, but a mere jumble of words, and phrases and figures.

‘I wonder what time it is?'

A collector came for her ticket. He had a red moustache and beard. He swung the snippers between finger and thumb.

‘Tickets, please.'

She took out the ticket Mr. Trears had given her.

‘Thank you,' the collector said.

She wished he would say something, like: ‘Cold to-day! Long journey!' She didn't know why—except that she wished he would, but he went away, shutting the door loudly behind him. She could hear him calling out: ‘Tickets please! Tickets!' and then the train stopped.

She jumped up, went out into the corridor, looked bewilderedly about. A guard came along.

‘Is this Darton?'

‘No, missus. Darton is two hundred miles away yet. Back to your carriage!'

Instead she stood there looking out of the window. Another bearded man came along pushing a tea-wagon. She asked for a cup of tea, a sandwich. She returned to her carriage and shut the door. She smiled to herself, and at the same time watched people pass and repass the window. She wondered if anybody would come into her carriage. She hoped not. She was so excited, she might laugh again, might cry. ‘I hope I'm left alone,' she said to herself.

Two official-looking gentlemen came along, stared in. Then passed on. She enjoyed the tea, but didn't touch the sandwich.

Two hundred miles! What a distance! And Peter all that distance away, all that time. Heavens! And nothing but bleak fields, hundreds of bleak fields, and bare trees separating them. Half the world. Heavens! Nearly two hundred and fifty miles. ‘I never realized,' she said.

She put cup and paper bag well under her seat. The train whistle blew, the platform seemed to move, was gone. The train was in open country again. Half the world between them all that time.

‘I wonder what he looks like?' Was he ill or well, was he grown? A man. Perhaps. ‘You don't know how much I'm longing to see you. As true as God you don't.'

The windows were tight shut, she was alone, locked in. Nobody passed. No voices. Silent, peaceful. Only the metallic rhythm, the occasional whistle blow. The carriage was a little church. She sat in this church. No! He didn't know. God is good to me and will be to you when you're worth it. You didn't disgrace me, only your poor self. Foolish. Foolish lad.

‘Oh, Peter! I'm actually on my way, coming to you.'

She mumbled this to herself, the words filled the carriage. Yes, this was a little church, and here she was quite alone. You could strip your soul bare here.

‘Peter! My dear son! You don't know. You don't know—I mean.'

She gave a little laugh. Mean! Mean what? She wanted to cry again. Her lips trembled. Her fingers wandered up and down the window. She traced lines and circles through the misted glass. The train stopped again and the little junction at which they had stopped re-echoed to the sounds of: ‘Gorley next stop! Next stop Gorley!'

The porter called through cupped hands.

Her heart gave a leap. ‘Next stop! Next stop! I'll see him then, see Peter.'

She got up and went and stood by the other window. They were approaching a town. Houses, flagstaffs, shops, bridges, lanes, reeled past her. She sat down. As she did so the train slowed up. People were passing up one end of the corridor. Somebody was calling. ‘First lunch please. First lunch serving now,' and suddenly her door was shot back and an impeccable attendant was saying: ‘Lunch, madam?'

‘No, thank you.' She smiled when the man had gone. ‘Lunch, madam?' Well, imagine that. What part of the world could this be?' Lunch, madam?'

‘Fancy me sitting here thinking of Peter and poor Denny somewhere far out on the sea. Am I selfish? I hope not. Oh, Peter. I'm actually on my way to see you.'

She got up, looked in the glass again, gave a little laugh. ‘Lunch, madam?' was whispered into her ears again. ‘Lunch, madam?' meant a gentleman. That was three gentlemen. The first—how vividly it came back to her. Going into that huge office about Anthony's money being stopped and the gentleman said: ‘Show this lady to the Shore Superintendent's office.' And the second gentleman, Mr. Trears. He
was
a kind man. ‘And don't feel out of place at all. If there's anything I can do, fare, expenses, just say.' Gentleman number two. ‘I can manage very well, thank you.' And now the third. Tall, slim, boyish complexion, ginger hair beautifully parted, shining buttons, a white napkin on his arm, beautiful clean hands—saying: ‘Lunch, madam?' These three men represented the whole world. They were good. They were the reason for living, for hoping. It was wonderful the good people there were in the world.

‘I feel sure
one
of them must be a Catholic,' she was telling herself. The train had stopped, started again, and she had hardly noticed it. But now looking out she saw the familiar sights, wide fields, valleys, bare trees, tall telegraph posts like a continuous line of question-marks, a little river, a spinney looking bleak, stony roads. All that between her son and her. ‘How big this world is,' she said to herself.

At the next station the train stopped, and she got another cup of tea. Should she get another sandwich? She looked into her purse. ‘I'm not a bit hungry. I might get something to eat at Darton, and then I mightn't. No, I'm too excited to eat anything.' She had a cup of tea, drank it standing in the corridor, passed the cup back to the man as the train started off again. Its speed increased. She called a passing official.

‘What time does the train reach Darton, please?' she asked him.

‘One hour, madam,' he said. ‘It's express all the way now.'

She flushed. ‘Thank you,' she said. ‘Madam,' she thought. It was amazing. Here was a new world and full of gentlemen. It was wonderful.

‘Madam.'

‘Suppose, just suppose,' she said, speaking aloud into the carriage, ‘suppose he got out—got free—and came home—and—oh, and Anthony——No! It'll never be the same again. I'm dreaming again. I mustn't even think of it. I miss Maureen all the same. Poor child. I wonder what's become of her. Perhaps I was to blame for that. Oh, I don't know—I don't know! But I mustn't think about these things.'

She kept getting up, brushing her coat, fixing her hat, dusting her coat-sleeves, drawing back the blue serge skirt to look at the shoes she had bought yesterday.

‘My feet don't ache in these at all. They look rather a nice shoe.'

She stood in the carriage looking at the picture of Cornwall, the hill, the row of houses, the stretch of beach and sea. ‘Not like Ireland,' she said, and sat down, and Cornwall was at once obliterated. Not like Ireland. Nothing ever was or could be.

The train began to shudder a little under the speed. She was being literally hurled towards her son. Now and again her mind became clouded by pictures of that ‘awful business.' She saw everything so clearly. The court, the judge, the people. Saying good-bye to Peter! Mr. Trears linking arms, taking her down the steps. Mr. Kilkey sitting opposite her in the taxi-cab. Years away, worlds away.

The train rattled crazily over the points. Suddenly the sun came out and a thin streak of light fell upon the permanent way, upon the banking, the fields. More houses appeared. Stone houses, granite houses. Hard, cold-looking houses. A granite world. A dizzy network of lines flashed past, a signal-box.

‘Darton Junction,' and she got up went into the corridor. But it was too quick for her. The name flashed by. People in adjoining carriages were putting on coats, taking down luggage. Stationary goods wagons were passed, a gang of platelayers working in the six-foot. Desmond shot into her mind, then shot out again. She began to feel nervous. Even her excitement had cooled, sunk low. In the distance she could hear shouts, and then the name Darton came to her ears. The train slowed up, crawled, steam hissed, hollow sounds came into the corridor. It grew lighter. ‘Must be the sun.'

She went into the carriage again, once more examined herself. ‘Do I look all right? I hope so.' She stood there, the bag Mrs. Gumbs had lent her—‘She has been a friend to me, now I come to think of it.' Stood there, heart fluttering even as the train rolled slowly to rest at the long stone platform. Darton at last!

She went out now, dropped the window, looked up and down. Darton! She saw the name on the board, on the lamp, on the notice-boards. Darton. Then she opened the door and got down to the platform. Doors opened and shut, baggage littered the platform. She saw people shaking hands, kissing. Saw servants carrying bags, cars roll up, taxi-cabs, hansom cabs, and one carriage and pair in which lay an enormous pile of rugs.

‘Darton,' she said. ‘So this is Darton! Well! Well!'

She stood quite still, rather bewildered by the strangeness, the knowledge that she was so near to her son, even a little frightening, like seeing the doctor, or Mr. Lake at the steamship office. She saw a hill of houses beyond the station roof, a tall building. Would that be the gaol? She watched the people hurrying past, smiles, laughs, pats on the back, jokes, exclamations. All human warmth. And suddenly she was isolated. The platform cleared. A porter came up to her.

‘Can I do anything, missus?' he enquired.

Mrs. Fury said: ‘Could you tell me which is the best way to the prison, please?' and she looked away up the hill. Missus! It sounded just like home!

‘Yes, missus. When you get outside the station you take the first turning to your left, then sharp right, and straight ahead. It's a huge stone place. You can't miss it,' and a thick hairy hand became the signal pointer.

‘Thank you,' she said, opened her bag, took out three pennies. ‘I'm sorry, it's all I have. Thank you very much.'

‘S'orl right, missus. That's all right,' he said, pocketing the coppers, and he accompanied her to the station door. Then he took her first half of the ticket. ‘Look here, missus. It's rather hilly. There's a cab there that'll run you up for a bob. Shall I call him?' and he made as though to do so.

‘It's quite all right,' she said. ‘I'd rather walk. You're very obliging,' and she left the station. For a moment she stood on the side-walk.

Darton! At last! And here, in this place, for two whole years—is it two or three? I don't know. I can't really remember, and he was here now.

She set off at a quick pace for Darton Gaol. ‘God is good,' she said. ‘I never thought I would be here to-day. Never! I—oh, it's a miracle.'

She hoped he was all right, hadn't grown thin; she hoped he wasn't too sad. ‘Oh,' she exclaimed, remembering the years he must remain there.

She passed up the hill, past the stone houses; there was nobody about. Darton seemed a silent place. But at the top she saw a small post office and general shop, and stopping to glance in the window saw sweet toffee apples, bootlaces, tinned milk, and a large picture of the Royal Family with patriotic colours draped round it. At the door a stout little woman, almost lost behind a milk-white apron, an old woman who said ‘Good morning,' as she stood by the window.

‘Good morning,' Mrs. Fury said, turned and went on. She saw two horses going into a stable, a policeman talking to a man in a leather apron. At the top of the street she saw the large stone building. She stood still, staring at it. It frightened her. It didn't appear to have any doors. How high the walls were? And sharp spiked railings all round. Her son was in there. Behind all that. ‘Oh, dear God,' she exclaimed. ‘The poor lad.'

She crossed towards it. It reminded her of one of the Gelton warehouses. The side-walk was granite, the walls were thick. But where was the door? She turned into what looked like an entry, walked to the end of it, then saw the door. The sight of it made her feel weak and helpless. If only Mrs. Gumbs had been with her. She went up to the huge door and put her gloved finger on one of the iron studs. Where was the bell? Should she knock? Would anybody in the world hear a knock on such a door as this? And then she saw the bell on the right-hand side, fixed into the stone, then the smaller door in the big one. She pulled the bell. After a
few
minutes she heard the sound of heavy feet on bare stone, and it seemed to echo and re-echo through the gaol.

The little door opened and a warder looked out at her without interest, without thought, as he must surely look at the stone wall outside his little office. A face as grey and deadly as the walls. But eventually some sign of life appeared in the features. The mouth opened.

‘Yes?'

Mrs. Fury opened her bag, drew out the sealed envelope which Mr. Trears had given her, and as she handed it to him, she noticed for the first time that the letter S was stamped in the red wax on the back of the envelope. She stared at the shiny peak of the warder's hat, somehow nose and mouth met. It was a small face, smaller under the uniform hat. She saw black hairs on the back of his fingers.

‘Wait outside,' he said, opening the small door. He moved aside to allow her in, and awkwardly, clumsily, the frightened, agitated woman raised one foot and then the other over the high step and found herself in the large yard. Directly in front of her she saw the dark shining frontage of a van, the wooden shafts erect. To the right a long corridor, to the left a solid wall. All stone. She looked down at the ground. The man went away. Prison! This was a prison! She was
in
a prison! She clasped her bag. The man came out through a green door, called to her.