The Furys (71 page)

‘Yes, mam,' he had replied. Mrs. Ragner ever after retained a picture in her mind of that little scene. Her nakedness revealed for the first time to any man. It remained imprinted very clearly upon her mind. It was as though for the first time she had seen as in a mirror the deficiency in her make-up. She had realized that inner being, dead, voiceless. The fruit and essence of feeling lay buried beneath it. The more urgent and strident voice of the world of Banfield Road held her firmly within its mesh. An isolated incident, a momentary invasion of the rhythm of daily life. Mr. Corkran and Mrs. Ragner respected each other too much. For either to have succumbed in that delicate moment would have put an end to that respect, which transcended everything.

This morning—the hall clock had just chimed nine—Anna Ragner was dressing in front of her mirror. She had put on a black velvet dress, its sole decoration a pearl necklace that hung round her neck and lay gracefully on her bosom. Her jet-black hair was brushed straight back from the forehead. As she smoothed out her dress she called out, ‘Corkran!'

Mr. Corkran, appearing as though by magic, stood outside waiting. ‘Yes, mam,' he said.

‘You will get my things ready, Corkran, I have to be at the court at half-past ten.'

‘Yes, mam.' Mr. Corkran moved away as silently as a cat. Mrs. Ragner closed the drawer of her dressing-table, picked up a bunch of keys, and crossing the room opened a small safe in the wall. From it she took her moneylender's expired licence, three testimonials, and a recent letter from her solicitor. These she put into her black bag, a Gladstone that had seen much service, and whose life only held together, it seemed, by the application of Mr. Corkran's special polish. She locked the bag, surveyed herself in the mirror and patted her cheek, a habit she had whenever she was going off to the court. The significance of this habit was something that only that plump lady knew. To Mr. Corkran it was just a habit. She went downstairs, where she heard the man pottering away in the kitchen, and a few minutes later he appeared in the drawing-room with a tray. Mrs. Ragner began breakfast. ‘Her things,' consisting of hat, coat, scarf and umbrella, were already lying on the hall box. To her left lay the mail. She picked up the neatly piled heap of letters and with the same hand spread them out in a long row, and her experienced eye surveyed them. Here were badly addressed envelopes, dirty envelopes, important-looking envelopes, and envelopes that simply cried out to be opened and attended to. ‘Corkran!' she called. When that gentleman came in, Mrs. Ragner took three letters from her pile of forty and said casually, ‘You might attend to those, Corkran.' Then she went on eating. The man picked up the letters and left the room. ‘Ah!' she exclaimed under her breath. Then she opened her three letters and began to read.

Meanwhile Mr. Corkran had returned to the kitchen. This was his den. It contained two chairs, a white scrubbed table, a chest of drawers, whilst on the walls hung some cheap oleographs. An almanac hung on one side of the grate. Mr. Corkran began looking at the letters. This was one of his great moments, the first survey of the mail, the mail of the clients who must wait. Above his head was a clothes-line upon which hung drying clothes, a shirt and some handkerchiefs. At the other end of the line hung Mrs. Ragner's night-dress, silk knickers, and stockings. All these were washed by Mr. Corkran. There could be no question of any outside laundering, for Mr. Corkran would not hear of it. The fact that a man should do this kind of work, and like it, seemed to Mrs. Ragner merely a manifestation of his complete contentment, his willingness and his devotion. Briefly there was nothing that Mr. Corkran could not or did not do. As he sat looking at the various envelopes he heard the chair creak in the drawing-room. At once he put down his knife and fork and went off to the hall. Mrs. Ragner was already putting on her hat, and with the man beside her continued to fidget with this, all the while looking into the mirror, until she had it in the exact position in which she wanted it.

‘That's better,' she said—and smiled. Mr. Corkran nodded and that was all.

Then he said, ‘Will you be back at the usual time, mam?'

‘I think so,' she replied, then after a pause asked, ‘Why?' It was a rare occasion when Anna Ragner forgot an important matter connected with her business. But she had, for Mr. Corkran at once replied, ‘I understand you wanted to go over that Fury contract again, mam.'

‘Oh yes, of course! That is quite right. About the renewal of the loan.' Again Corkran nodded his head.

‘I went there twice to assess, but each time there was nobody in.' He began scraping his foot along the bottom of the hall-stand.

‘Yes, I think that matter had better be seen to. How I came to forget I really don't know. But I have been much occupied in my mind lately with another matter.' She looked at the man directly, questioningly, penetratingly, as though the indefatigable Mr. Corkran might be able at this very moment to reassure her upon a matter of which he knew exactly nothing. He, not being possessed of any psychic qualities, said, ‘Yes, mam, I understand, you have looked not a little worried lately. I hope you are not unwell.' He returned her glance, but she saw nothing beyond two slits that seemed to shine like glass, cupped by thick brows.

‘People are so ungrateful,' said Mrs. Ragner. She picked up her bag, and Mr. Corkran opened the door for her. ‘Here is Spencer now,' she said, and descended the steps.

‘I shall go over those Fury papers, mam, and will go once more to Hatfields. I shall be back about four-thirty. Everything will be ready as usual.'

‘Very well. Good-morning, Corkran.' Mr. Corkran watched the important figure climb into the cab, whilst Spencer, an old and bilious-looking cabby, relieved his horse of the nosebag, climbed into his seat, and picked up the reins. Number three Banfield Road closed its doors, and the cab moved off.

Mr. Spencer and Mrs. Ragner were almost old friends, for the cabby had a regular contract to drive the lady to her office in Heys Road, and on the mornings of court appearances he arrived at the house half an hour earlier. He put this down to Mrs. Ragner's respect for punctuality, but this was not so. Punctuality was not in the vocabulary of any person for whom people were merely persons who waited and persons who were attended to at once. The earlier arrival of the cab made a leisurely drive possible, and naturally there were occasions when Mrs. Ragner, to use her own words, liked to ‘survey her lands.' For this reason Mr. Spencer's cab followed no set course. Indeed, no cab ever made such twistings and turnings as Mr. Spencer's did on what he called ‘Court days.' Mrs. Ragner's net was wide. There were concealed turnings, twisting round corners into narrow streets, sudden backings when a short alley ended in a cul-de-sac. Passing through this maze of streets and roads and alleys, it was not unnatural that occasionally a client looked at the cab and remarked to her neighbour, ‘There's Mrs. Ragner.' These remarks were always audible, a clue indeed to the degree of astonishment which followed that lady's sudden appearance upon ‘her lands.' She liked to see the houses where clients lived. But at the same time she never recognized a client. That was not her business. It was she only who was to be recognized. Here a young woman suckling her child upon a step, there a woman with sleeves rolled up cleaning her parlour windows, there a man painting his house door. These were her clients. She surveyed and passed on. When the cab reached Mile Hill it stopped. Mr. Spencer descended from his seat and repaired to ‘The Robber's Nest.' Mrs. Ragner looked out of the windows of her cab. She never smiled. People passed by, looked in through the window at the stout lady in the fur coat, and passed on. For all these people Mrs. Ragner had a special look: the bent man, the raucous-voiced young girl, the babe in arms, the old men and women. Towards all of them she turned a calm, dignified countenance, the while she sat back in imperious attitude upon her seat. Whilst such people drew breath she could live. She was one with them, they lived for one another, depended upon one another. Mr. Spencer returned from ‘The Robber's Nest' wiping his lips with evident satisfaction, filled as he was by a new pride and a new voice, possible only through the kindness of that good lady sitting so contentedly inside his vehicle. The cab moved on. It began to rain. It poured. Mrs. Ragner buttoned her coat about her neck, put her hands through her muff, and crouched into the corner.

‘Here we are,' said the cabby. ‘Court Place.' The cab pulled up outside the gate. A motley crowd was collected. Policemen moved about amongst beshawled women; two old men leaning against a shop window displaying pornographic literature looked out of watery eyes at the stout lady now descending from the cab, whilst through the assembly like an undercurrent passed the word ‘Moneylender.' For a moment the lady stood looking over the heads of the crowd. Then she told Mr. Spencer to be back at noon, and passed up the yard towards the court. For the first time that morning she smiled, for right in front of her were some other followers of her own profession, all women. They were talking animatedly in whispers about a case that was at that moment about to be heard. Mrs. Ragner bid them ‘Good-morning' and passed on. Exactly at five minutes past twelve Anna Ragner, Moneylender, 3 Banfield Road, Gelton, climbed once more into Mr. Spencer's cab and was driven to Heys Road. She entered her small office and began business for the day.

At two-forty-five Mr. Corkran returned from Hatfields. He rang up the office at Heys Road. Mrs. Ragner was engaged at the time with a rather impecunious merchant, whose optimisms about the future had so far failed to have any effect upon the lady who could lend five pounds to five thousand pounds on note of hand alone. Hearing the bell ring, Mrs. Ragner said, ‘Excuse me one moment,' and picking up the receiver recognized her factotum's voice at once. To get a ring from Mr. Corkran was the most unnatural thing in the world. ‘What is it, Corkran?' she asked, fingering her necklace with her hand, the while her bosom rose and fell to the uneven rhythm of her breathing.

‘It's this Fury business, mam,' said Mr. Corkran from the other end of the phone. ‘I called at Hatfields to-day and saw the woman. I thought I would ring you in case you might wish to alter your decision, mam. I assessed the furniture at seventeen pounds, but even allowing for regular payments, that assessment would hardly cover the interest on the first loan. I thought it curious, if you will excuse me for saying so, mam, I thought it curious you wished to renew on the original loan of twenty in view of the fact that the interest on the first and second loans is now twenty-two pounds, and of the original loan of twenty itself only twelve has been cleared. I pointed out that a renewal was of course entirely a matter for your own discretion. I——'

‘Mrs. Fury herself applied for a re-loan at an interest rate upon which we were both agreed. But this loan was to be given in view of certain surrender rights to a compensatory document. I have not altered my decision, Corkran.'

‘Yes, mam. I see! But I thought it best to phone you. I have this document now. It refers to a sum of thirty-five pounds for compensation.'

‘That is correct,' replied Mrs. Ragner. ‘The loan equals the value of the document so surrendered, but the interest on this renewal is higher than on the initial loan. The valuing of the furniture is a precautionary measure. Did you get the other information that I asked?'

Mr. Corkran replied, ‘Yes, mam. I got that. I have a paper here showing full ingoing income. The point is that I hold the document, but no money has been paid over.'

‘That is quite correct, Corkran. I shall see to that matter when I return in the evening. Whilst you are here you might tell me what has happened in the Joyce case.'

‘Oh yes. They distrained this morning, and I arranged with Mr. Elton to auction on Thursday. I hope that was correct, mam.'

‘Quite correct, Corkran,' replied Mrs. Ragner, and banged down the receiver.

If she had seen the expression upon her factotum's face at the other end of the line, Mrs. Ragner would no doubt have wondered what could have caused it. For it was a rare thing for that gentleman to show such a pained, even humiliated expression as he did now, as he stood in front of the phone in the hall at Banfield Road. A too conscientious devotion to duty could have its share of alarms as well as excursions. In fact, Mr. Corkran's curiosity prompted him to go into the little office behind the sitting-room, and take from the cupboard set high in the wall the large black ledger. Mr. Corkran took this ledger into ‘his den' and, seated comfortably before the large fire, opened it and turned the pages until he came to F, and then to Fury. Immediately he concentrated all his attention upon the page in front of him.

This tall thin man wore a sailor's jersey, blue dungarees, and a pair of rope shoes. His thinning yellow hair was brushed down neatly on his head, and he wore a fringe over the forehead; his eyes were so small that for a moment an observer would take him to be eyeless, until he spoke, when he opened them wide and looked at you in the most distrusting manner. But usually he went about with half-closed eyes. He seemed to see a person clearer this way. His long arms were bared to the shoulder, for the sleeves of the jersey had been cut off. He had one leg doubled under the chair, the other leg stretched across the hearth. His attitude was studious as his fingers ran up and down the column of figures, whilst he muttered in his throat, ‘Fury. Number three Hatfields. Loan. Twenty pounds. Husband. Railway man. Income all told, one pound fourteen shillings. Surety. Joseph Kilkey, Stevedore. On furniture. Assessment, forty-five pounds six shillings. Interest on capital sum, ten pounds. Repayments weekly, twenty-two and sixpence. January 10th, payments lapsed. January 17th, payments lapsed. Charges, one pound. Payments resumed January 30th. February 5th, loan renewed. Sum due on first loan, eight pounds. Interest due, eleven pounds—deducted from the renewal of twenty pounds, eleven pounds ten. Charges, ten shillings. Total interest, twelve pounds. Total sum due, forty-three pounds. March 18th, payments lapsed. March 30th, payments resumed. Collection charges, seven and sixpence.'