The Secret Journey (3 page)

There came a ring at the bell, and Mr. Corkran went to the door. Anna Ragner had returned.

‘Didn't you hear the cab draw up, Corkran?' she asked brusquely, and without waiting for a reply went upstairs to her room. One thing was certain. Mr. Daniel Corkran would follow her, and that was what Anna Ragner liked. She liked him to follow her about like a dog. As she began taking off her things she heard him ascending the stairs—not that he made any sound, except his heavy breathing and the tap of his ringed finger on the banister.

‘Come in!' she called out. When the man entered, Anna Ragner was lying stretched upon the bed, her head resting in her clasped hands. One foot lay over the other. The room was heavy with the scent with which her corsage was covered. Mr. Corkran always hated this smell, though for his own moustache he used a strong-smelling Hungarian pomade, with which he religiously waxed it every morning.

‘Sit down.'

‘Yes, mam.' Mr. Corkran sat down, his hands flat upon his bent knees.

‘You never heard the cab, Corkran.' She said this without looking at him. Her eyes wandered across the stained ceiling.

‘No, mam.' The man's tone was apologetic. He began scraping his foot upon the floor.

‘Don't do that, Corkran. I'm always asking you not to. When will you get out of that public-house habit? I'm expecting every minute that you'll spit.' The man said nothing.

Mrs. Ragner, still surveying the ceiling, continued: ‘Will you bring me the document you received from the woman in Hatfields?'

Mr. Corkran jumped up and hurried out of the room. In a few seconds he had returned with this paper, which he immediately handed to the woman. Then he stood by the dressing-table.

‘Did you get me the things from the chemist, Corkran?'

‘Yes, mam. Won't you have your tea now? It is all ready below.'

‘And the room? Is that ready? I am still surprised that after all these years you should forget to hear Spencer's cab roll up to the door. What were you doing, Corkran?'

‘Me, mam! I was going through the ledger. I never heard the cab, though usually I can hear it turning the corner. I was looking up the Fury account, mam.'

‘You've surprised me more than once, Corkran,' replied Mrs. Ragner, folding up the paper which the man had given her.

‘Surprised, mam? I hope everything is satisfactory?'

There came one of those rare moments when this man, disarmed now by the tone of Mrs. Ragner's voice, opened those slits of eyes so widely as to convey his consternation and his fear. Mr. Corkran had emerged from his shell, and he had momentarily slipped down from his high throne.

‘Yes, surprised, Corkran. I was surprised when you allowed that woman in.'

‘Mrs. Fury, mam? But her daughter has an account here.'

‘Is that all?' she asked.

Mr. Corkran remained dumb. He had his whims and fancies, but these were things that not even Mrs. Ragner could invade. There was a reason why he had allowed Mrs. Fury inside the Banfield house. But he could not give it voice. He could not explain. At least not to the stout lady on the bed. Mr. Corkran said quickly, ‘Was I wrong in my calculations?'

‘If she had come direct to me I think I would have refused her, Corkran. That is one of my surprises, a surprise in which you have your fair share. For I am glad you introduced her to me, Corkran, very glad.'

‘I thought she was quite a decent person, mam. The daughter is respectable.'

‘Yes, Corkran. It is hard for me to express certain feelings that I now have. There are some clients whom one really respects. Some whom one does not.'

‘Looking through the account, mam, I thought that it was becoming most involved—excuse me—I mean it's getting rather tight.'

‘What? Sixty pounds for a loan of twenty just over a year ago. Less thirty when that compensation note is cleared. You continue to surprise me, Corkran. Involved is a word I am better able to understand than you. How long have you been here, Corkran?'

She sat up on the bed, and leaned her head against the bed-rail. She fixed him with her eye. Mr. Corkran actually squinted.

‘Why is she asking this?' thought the man. ‘And why isn't she going down for her tea?'

‘I've been here nine years and a half,' replied Mr. Corkran.

‘Of course you have. And at any moment that you feel your freedom threatened you may go. Understand that while you are here you must do as I ask.'

‘Yes, mam.'

‘And that in future I shall myself look after the Fury account.'

‘Yes, mam.'

‘And that your advice is only wanted when I require it.'

‘Yes, mam.'

‘That everything will go on just as usual. And that you won't phone me when I am engaged with a client at the office.'

‘Yes, mam.'

‘Then get out, Corkran. You can call me when the tea is ready. Then get that room ready.'

The woman rose from the bed, crossed to her dressing-table and applied some powder to her face. Mr. Corkran departed. As she smoothed back her hair she said to herself, ‘I believe I have allowed things to get slack these last few weeks. Now why is that?' She puckered her brows and stood looking down at her suède slippers, the while she drummed her fingers upon her partly open mouth. ‘Corkran is really going beyond himself.' She went downstairs carrying the Fury agreement in her hand. In the hall she paused, then called, ‘Corkran!'

The man came out of the big room where he had been arranging the benches for visitors.

‘The chemist's things,' she said. ‘Thanks.'

Corkran handed her a packet of sanitary towels and disappeared again. It was almost half-past six. She hurried into the drawing-room, the only room in the house where she took her meals, excepting an occasional light supper which she took in her bedroom. Mr. Corkran had made poached eggs on toast, and even hot buttered scones. Anna Ragner began her tea. This meal she always took leisurely, it was her hour of meditation. In retrospect she reviewed the events of the day, the clients seen and accepted—she never remembered the face of a refused person—and some remarkable-looking people had indeed interviewed her that very day. But she remembered almost every person upon her book. She knew the history of each case. She knew their families and relations, their incomes and their indebtedness. She knew when they were ill, as she knew the moment they were dead. She was linked up with their very destiny. Her house was a treasure-house of secrets, her letter-box bulged with appeals, hopes, threats and curses. Her safe, full of promissory notes, was a veritable arsenal of power. All this she contemplated upon as she sat enjoying her tea. She could unearth the past, obliterate the future. But, greatest of all, her world was a world of faces, and these she had the power to make laugh or cry. In imagination she peopled her room with all the clients she had ever had, just as at this moment her faithful factotum standing sentinel in the hall opened the door from time to time and asked rudely, ‘Name!' People were ushered into the long room, where they sat waiting upon the benches: young women and old, working men, grand-dads, boys, mere children. And they talked to each other, in whispers, whilst Mrs. Ragner had her tea.

Mr. Corkran was disturbed. It was the first time he had ever been spoken to in such a manner. He simply could not understand this sudden change in Mrs. Ragner. Always she had left things to him. Every client passed through his hands. And now because he had been nothing other than attentive to her business she had humiliated him. There was no other word for it. As he stood there like a statue, waiting for a fresh ring at the bell, he thought to himself, ‘I will speak to her now.' He knocked at the sitting-room door and, unusual with him, entered without being asked. Mrs. Ragner stood up.

‘What is the matter, Corkran? I don't understand. You know I am not to be interrupted during meals.'

‘Yes, mam. But I have something to say. I am quite prepared to go if you wish it.'

Mrs. Ragner smiled. ‘Your spirit of independence, if you like to call it that, no longer counts. You have none. The position is: Two people here wish to change their minds. But only I can do that. Do you understand, Corkran? I repeat that I was rather surprised when you allowed this woman in, even though her daughter is respectable and pays regularly. But I don't like the woman. That is why I am renewing the loan. If I have allowed you to have absolute sway here, it is only because my increasing business in town keeps me occupied not only in the daytime but at night. Even when you are in bed, Corkran! That is all. I repeat I was surprised. But I am glad she met with your approval, because now she meets with mine. You will bring me the ledger.'

‘Yes, mam.' And Mr. Corkran hurried out for the big book.

He held the big ledger out to her.

‘You may carry on, Corkran. I give you absolute power to interview every person who calls here, and if you do not approve of them you can turn them away. All who satisfy you satisfy me. But the Fury account I shall look to myself. Is there anything else you wish to know?'

Mr. Corkran stood looking at the woman, whose books he kept, whose house he cleaned, whose clothes he washed, and whose money he banked; she whom he ran messages for, whose bath he filled and emptied, whose bed he made. He had done this for nearly ten years. In return he received two pounds per week and all found. He had Saturday and Sunday evenings off.

‘Am I satisfied?' he asked himself, and already knew the answer to his question. He was satisfied. But the position was difficult. It had been made difficult by the fact that he had ventured to suggest that the Fury account was getting to a stage where further re-loans would be suicidal. For this he was told to mind his own business.

‘Well?' asked Mrs. Ragner. ‘Well? What are you standing there for?'

The man opened his mouth to make reply. ‘I—I'm sorry, mam, but you always counted on my advice when the accounts were climbing.'

‘I did,' said Mrs. Ragner. ‘And you can still advise me. But not about the Fury account. Is that plain?'

‘Yes, mam. But you see—I mean it's difficult—I mean the position.'

‘The position is that you cannot move. Do you understand that? You cannot move. Where can you go if you leave here? To whom? What can you do? Now get out.'

‘Very good, mam.' As Mr. Corkran turned to go Mrs. Ragner rushed up to him, caught his shoulder and said loudly, ‘You are not a man. Understand me. Do you think you would be here if you were?' She gripped both shoulders with her plump hands, and put her flushed face near to the ashen-grey one of Mr. Corkran. ‘If you were that, you would not be here five minutes. I know people when I see them. It's not only my clients who can be ungrateful. Now go.'

To finish her tea was quite impossible. ‘The ingratitude of people!' she said in her mind. It was as though she had struck at the core of her power and its harsh voice had remained silent. To have kept that creature nine years, to have clothed and fed him, to have done everything conceivable for him, and, then for him to take offence, mainly because, ruled by a sudden desire, she had decided to look after a particular account. It wasn't the account, it wasn't the sum, nor the woman, no, it was just this, that there should have emerged from that slavish creature a spirit, the faint glow of an independent spirit. That he should even have suggested that the account was running too high. She laughed aloud. Good God! She had not trodden hard enough.

At half-past nine, Mr. Corkran, hearing a loud ring on the bell, rushed down the hall to answer the door. A young man, he appeared to Mr. Corkran to be a person about twenty years of age, was standing on the step. In reply to that gentleman's gruff ‘Name, please,' the young man, after subjecting Mr. Corkran to a scrutinizing survey which began at his rope shoes and ended at the top of his head, replied:

‘Fury! I have a letter from my mother for Mrs. Ragner.'

‘I see. Will you step inside?'

Mr. Corkran drew open the door as far as he could without moving from his position, but the young man made no move. Instead, he replied:

‘I'd much rather not. Would you take the note for me?'

‘You seem in a great hurry. How do you know I'll take the note for you? I am not a servant. If you have any business here, you must step inside and see Mrs. Ragner.' He leaned out over the step and said in a low voice, ‘Because Mrs. Ragner is most strict about one thing. You can go to see her, but she won't come out to see you. This applies to all visitors here. Is the message urgent?'

‘I don't know. I don't know anything about it. I was asked to bring this note.'

‘Who asked you?'

‘My mother,' replied the young man. He seemed to resent Mr. Corkran's curiosity about such intimate matters. He held the letter in his hand, the other rested upon the brick-work. Looking at it, Mr. Corkran thought what a businesslike hand it really was. The fist was clenched and leaned heavily upon the wall, as though all the weight of the young man's body lay behind it. Mr. Corkran shifted his position. The man on the step was staring at him in a most insolent fashion. This attitude was so unusual that for the first time for years Daniel Corkran raised his voice.

‘Who are you staring at?' he asked.

‘You. Are you taking the letter or not? It doesn't concern me, and I'm in a hurry.'

‘I thought you were,' replied the astonished Daniel. ‘But wait a second, will you?'

Mrs. Ragner's clients having gone, all business was closed promptly at nine. She had locked up her books, and was sitting indulging in contemplation at the wooden trestle-table. Then the sound of voices came to her ears. Two men speaking. She had been expecting a visitor at nine, but a woman. This was a man. She went out and stood in the hall.

‘What is it, Corkran?' she called. ‘It is gone nine o'clock. Close the door.'

‘This young man has come from Hatfields. He has a letter for you and he is in a hurry. I asked him to come in, but he said he preferred not. His name is Fury.'