The Smallest Man

by Frances Quinn

  The door opened.

  ‘Nat?’ whispered my mother. ‘What are you doing out here?’

  I couldn’t say what I’d heard. She’d have to tell me then, and that would make it real. I hurriedly wiped my eyes with my hand.

  ‘I woke up,’ I said. ‘I wanted to see the moon.’

  She sat beside me and looked up.

  ‘It’s a big one tonight. Nearly full.’

  She put her arm round me and I leaned into her warm, soft shoulder. She hugged me tight, and then said, ‘Nat…’

  I looked up. Don’t say it. Please don’t say it. But she just shook her head.

  ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’

  We sat there looking at the moon for a long time. Seeing me tuck my feet under my nightshift when they got cold, she held her hands out for them.

  ‘I want you to remember something, Nat,’ she said, as she rubbed my feet warm again. ‘You’re small on the outside. But inside you’re as big as everyone else. You show people that and you won’t go far wrong in life.’

  Her voice wobbled when she said the last part, and then she patted my feet and said we should go indoors and try to get back to sleep. But I didn’t sleep again that night. I don’t believe she did either.

  Lying there in the dark, I thought and thought about how to stop them letting the fair man take me, but it wasn’t until the birds started singing and streaks of light came slanting in under the door that I got the idea. I wasn’t going to grow, that was clear now. I’d managed to persuade Sam to try the harness thing once more, but it hadn’t worked, even though this time I’d made myself stay up there longer by taking short little breaths and counting to ten, over and over again. All I got for that was a sore back and angry red weals on my ankles. But what if I could show them that, even if I didn’t grow, I could still be useful? That being small didn’t matter as much as they thought? Surely then they wouldn’t send me away?

  * * *

  The harvest was good that year. The wheat stood well over three feet tall and the field stretched out like a big puddle of gold, the ears waving gently in the breeze. I’d had to scramble up a tree to see the cutters on the other side, swinging their sickles wide to get a purchase on each bunch of wheat, then sawing backwards and forwards to cut it down. The women and children followed behind, gathering the stalks into sheaves and propping them together in threes to dry in the sunshine. I’d heard all about it from Sam so I knew what to do, though I hadn’t expected the sheaves to be so tall.

  Sam was in the far corner, working on his own, under instructions to stay there so I could sneak across, hidden in the crop, and start helping him before anyone noticed and sent me home. Once the cutters and pickers saw I could do as well as anyone else, my father would realise I was useful after all.

  I made a good start, but once I was in from the edge, the wheat grew so thickly I had to push the wiry stalks apart to move through it, and so tall that the way ahead was hidden. Eventually, voices told me I was near the border of the uncut wheat: men joking about something, women chattering, children singing a song about frogs in a meadow. I was still aiming for Sam’s corner, but weren’t the men’s voices closer than they ought to be? As I tried to get my bearings, a scythe came swathing through the stalks. I shouted but it was too late; the man’s arm carried on swinging towards me.

  * * *

  There have been a number of times in my life when I thought my last moment had come: that was the first. So when I opened my eyes to see the face of a girl with golden hair, naturally I thought I’d gone to heaven and she was an angel.

  ‘He’s awake,’ said the angel, in a surprisingly ordinary voice.

  A ring of people with worried faces leaned over me: Sam, some of the cutters and a lady who looked like the angel, but older. Instead of slicing my head clean off, the man had only hit me with the sickle’s handle and knocked me out. Later I’d have a bump the size of a walnut, but I wasn’t dead.

  ‘You’d better take him home,’ said the girl with the golden hair. ‘He still looks pale.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ said Sam, and swung me across his shoulder.

  ‘I can walk,’ I protested, but he ignored me.

  When we reached the road there was a carriage standing there, with two white horses tossing their heads and scattering clouds of harvest flies. We’d seen it before; it came from Burley, the big house on the hill. The richest man in Rutland, the Duke of Buckingham, lived there, so the angel girl must be his daughter and the lady his wife.

  ‘She heard you scream,’ said Sam. ‘That’s why they stopped.’

  ‘I did not scream. I shouted.’

  He was making me sound like a girl.

  ‘What were you doing there anyway? You were nowhere near my corner.’

  ‘I couldn’t see, could I?’

  He sighed.

  ‘Mother’s going to kill me for this. And I bet I don’t get any dinner.’

  * * *

  At first we couldn’t work out why she didn’t get angry. She just smeared goose grease on my swelling forehead, pulled out our pallet and made me lie down. When my father came in she told him the story, her words tumbling out in a rush, and made it sound as though it had all been the man with the sickle’s fault. Sam’s eyes widened but I saw what she was doing. My father had said she had to tell me about the fair man that day but with all the fuss he didn’t remember, and another day went by. She was still hoping and hoping that at the last minute she’d find a way to talk him out of it.

  * * *

  She was making stew when he came home the next day. He walked in, looking unusually cheerful, and said, ‘So, is Nat ready for his big adventure?’

  My insides turned to water.

  ‘John, I haven’t—’

  ‘The boy gave you the message? That he’s to go tomorrow morning?’

  The cooking pot crashed to the floor and hot stew splashed up, bits of carrot and swede and gobbets of gravy spattering the wall. Annie started bawling. Sam said, ‘Where’s he going?’ and at the same time my mother said, ‘You can’t—’

  My father put up his hand.

  ‘No, Lucy. No arguments this time.’ He threw his bloodied apron down on the table. ‘I’m going to feed the dogs.’

  My mother knelt in front of me and took my hands. She was crying now and I couldn’t watch her try to explain.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I know where I’m going. I heard him say it.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ said Sam. He looked at my mother. ‘Where’s he going?’

  ‘I tried to change his mind,’ she said. Her words were mixed up with sobs and she was breathing as though she couldn’t get enough air. ‘I didn’t think he’d really do it. Perhaps he still won’t, perhaps when you get there, he’ll see—’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I heard him. I’m a freak. And people think we’re cursed, because of me.’

  ‘What?’ said Sam. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You’re not a freak,’ my mother said, stroking my cheek. ‘Do you hear me? You are not a freak.’ Her face was wet all over with tears and they still kept spilling out of her eyes. ‘I’ll get you back, I will. I’ll think of something, I promise. And—’

  My father walked in, wiping his hands on a cloth.

  ‘Make sure you have his things ready tonight. Don’t want to keep them waiting at the big house.’

  All three of us turned to stare at him.

  ‘What?’ said my mother.

  ‘The message I sent – with the boy from the Red Lion.’

  ‘I didn’t get any message,’ she said.

  ‘Little sod, I gave him a farthing for that. Well, it’s good news. The duke wants to take him to London. It’s a big chance for the boy, so stop that bloody weeping.’

  The girl with the golden hair had told her father about me, my father explained, and now he wanted me to go and live in their house in London.

  ‘But what’s he to do there?’ asked my mother.


  ‘Be a sort of page, the duke said. Wearing fancy clothes and you know, attending on them. And he’ll sleep in a proper bed and get three good meals a day.’

  ‘But he’s so young,’ said my mother. ‘London’s a long way away, and—’

  ‘There’s no pleasing you, woman, is there? I find this fine opportunity for the boy and you’re still complaining. Well, it’s this or Swires.’

  I didn’t want to leave my family and live with strangers. But my father meant what he said and, more than anything, I didn’t want to be put in a cage and poked with sticks.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I said. ‘I’ll go to London.’

  * * *

  Sam came with me when I went to say goodbye to the dogs. They were sleeping off their dinners in the shed and Blackie, Patch and One-Eye just lifted their heads, then went back to dozing. But Growler padded up and licked my hand. I stroked his big, hard head and pressed the feel of it into my memory. I was trying to do that with everything – the smell of my mother’s stew, the way our front door creaked, the funny face Annie made when she was eating something she liked – so I could keep home in my head and take it with me.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Sam said. ‘Why have you got to go?’

  ‘Because I’m small.’

  ‘But you’ve always been small. That’s just how you are.’

  ‘And I’m no use.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘You were useless in the wheatfield. But it’ll be different when you grow.’

  I couldn’t tell him, even then.

  ‘Well anyway,’ I said. ‘You heard what Father said. It’s a big chance. And once I’ve been there a while maybe there’d be something there for you as well. I could keep a lookout.’

  His face brightened.

  ‘In the kitchens, maybe?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You promise?’ he said. ‘You won’t just forget about me, when you get there?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, of course I won’t.’

  I meant it, then.

  * * *

  Next morning, they stood outside the house, Sam waving, my mother sobbing. They were still there when we turned the corner and took the road towards the big house, where I was to get on a coach to London. My father lifted me onto his shoulders, just the way he used to, saying we’d never get there otherwise, and as we walked he told me about my new life.

  ‘It’s a different world down there,’ he said. ‘There’ll be things the likes of us have never seen. Some reckon the duke’s the most powerful man in England – I shouldn’t even be surprised if the king and queen dine at his house. Just think – my son breathing the same air as the King of England.’

  I wanted to ask if I’d be allowed to come home one day. After a year, maybe? Or two? Or if I’d have to stay there for always. But I didn’t want my father to think I wasn’t grateful he hadn’t sold me to the fair. Sometimes over the past few months, I’d wondered: did he wish I’d never been born? But now here he was, willing to miss out on the ten shillings that would have paid a year’s rent. Then I was glad I hadn’t said anything, because my father said:

  ‘You’ve done well for yourself, Nat, that’s for sure.’

  I sat up straighter on his shoulders then, because that was the first time in a long while that my father had sounded proud of me.

  * * *

  Everyone called it the big house; I thought that just meant it was bigger than our house, maybe even as big as the church. But it was as big as all the houses in Oakham put together. We went round to the back, where my father reached up to lift me from his shoulders. I wanted to cling on and never let go, but I remembered how he’d sounded when he said I’d done well for myself, and let him put me down. He knocked on a big wooden door and a woman came.

  ‘My son Nat,’ said my father, ‘as arranged.’

  He patted me on the head, quite fondly, before he walked away.

  But you’re wondering, I expect, about the shilling. The one that changed the course of my life. I didn’t see it, but I heard it, chinking into my father’s hand.

  ‘Six, seven, eight, nine, ten…’ said the woman at the door, counting out coins. ‘There we are… eleven shillings.’

  Chapter Five

  As he walked down the hill, my father must have reckoned he’d done well. Not only had he got rid of a son who was no use, but he’d got an extra shilling for him. Later, it gave me some satisfaction to realise he’d been cheated; if he’d known where I was really going, he could have asked more. But at the time what I thought was how stupid I’d been, to believe he’d given up the fair man’s ten shillings because the duke’s offer was a good opportunity for me. He’d just got a better price, and if he’d sounded proud, it was only of the fact that I hadn’t turned out to be totally worthless after all.

  I had never been all alone among strangers before, and my belly tied itself into a knot as I looked around. People were coming and going, carrying bundles and boxes; I jumped back as a boy staggered past carrying a pile of clothes so high he couldn’t see over it. Something slithered down from the heap and fell on me, and there was so much shiny, slippery fabric that I couldn’t get out from under it.

  ‘When will you learn to be careful?’ the woman who’d answered the door said to the boy. ‘You know there’ll be hell to pay if that gown’s dirtied.’

  She lifted the dress off and peered at me.

  ‘Goodness, you are a tiny one. Good job you are though, since we’ve only two hours to get your clothes ready. Now, let’s give his lordship a look at you. He said to bring you straight away.’

  The angel girl and her mother were sitting by an enormous fireplace – you could have cooked a whole pig in it – and the man standing beside them wore the finest clothes I’d ever seen, so I knew he must be the duke. There was more lace on his doublet than the rector’s wife had on her best frock, and she was reckoned to have the fanciest taste in Oakham. He was tall too, with long black hair and a small pointy beard, and there was something about the way he stood that made him look very pleased with himself.

  ‘Ah, here we are!’ he said. He turned to the duchess. ‘You were right. Perfect.’

  He bent and put his face close to mine. His skin smelt of something sweet, like flowers. I held my legs stiff so they wouldn’t tremble as he touched my hair, pulling out a curl between two of his fingers.

  ‘Very pretty,’ he said, and looked up at the woman who’d brought me in. ‘Blue for the clothes. And gold thread in the lace – that will look well with the hair.’

  ‘Very good, my lord.’

  ‘And get him clean, Marjorie. We don’t want to tickle the queen’s delicate little nose with the stink of the dog shed, do we?’

  * * *

  I plucked up my courage to speak as I followed Marjorie down a passageway.

  ‘Pardon me, but what did he mean? About the queen?’

  ‘Didn’t you know? You’re going to live with the new queen, when you get to London.’

  I stopped and looked up at her.

  ‘Why?’

  She bent down and ruffled my hair in quite an annoying way.

  ‘Because you’re such a pretty little thing, and the duke wants a present for her, that’s why. Now, let’s get on, there’s no time to hang about.’

  She must be simple. You couldn’t give a person as a present. And anyway, my father had said I was going to live at the duke’s house in London. She must have misunderstood.

  * * *

  The seamstresses, a thin woman with very blue eyes, and a sulky-looking girl, sat surrounded by shelves of fabric in every colour I’d ever seen, and some I hadn’t: rich gold that shimmered as though it was moving; a deep green like fresh oak leaves; the bright red of holly berries; palest pink, like the inside of a snail’s shell.

  ‘Blue, he says. And gold in the lace,’ said Marjorie.

  The thin woman pulled a box down, and rooted about inside it.

  ‘Gold, gold…’ She plucked out a roll
of lace. ‘This’ll do perfectly.’

  ‘And something plain for travelling,’ said Marjorie.

  The girl rolled her eyes.

  ‘In two hours?’

  ‘Stop complaining, Lizzie,’ said the woman. ‘Sooner we get on with it, sooner it’s done.’

  She stood me on a table and measured me, calling out numbers that the girl wrote down, her tongue between her lips. Then the woman pulled out a roll of fabric that was the colour the sky goes on a clear night, just when the stars are coming out. She held it against me, and nodded.

  ‘Lucky we don’t need a lot, I’ve only a yard and a half left.’ She picked up a pair of scissors. ‘You can take him now. Best get him washed before we try anything on.’

  * * *

  ‘But my mother washed my face before I left home,’ I protested, gripping my breeches with one hand and my shirt with the other. ‘And I don’t stink of the dog shed, I hardly ever go in there.’

  ‘His lordship wants you washed,’ said Marjorie. ‘So either you take that shirt and breeches off, or I do. What’s it to be?’

  I stood shivering in my undershirt and drawers as she scrubbed me with a rough linen cloth, dipping it in a bowl of cold water and wringing it out hard, as if it had done something to upset her. By the time she administered the final attack, tipping my head back and giving my face and ears a good rub, I felt as though I’d been licked all over by a giant cat. I reached for my clothes, but she snatched them away.

  ‘Fit for nothing but burning, those are. Come on, we’ll see how the seamstresses are getting on.’

  * * *

  Perched on the table in the seamstresses’ room, I caught sight of my reflection in the window. They’d made a doublet like the duke’s, with a wide collar trimmed with lace. There were tiny gold buttons down the front, and breeches in the same material, soft like the fur on a newborn puppy. The boy in the glass didn’t look like me, but when I moved my hand, he moved his too.