A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy)

by Catherine Cookson

  Nine

  ‘Good day, Gentlemen. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’ Dan Bannaman’s manner was jovial, as was his countenance. His cheeks were floridly red above his beard; he held his head high and his chin was thrust outwards. The only sign that could be taken for agitation might have been the movement of his jawbones that put his sidewhiskers into constant motion.

  Justice Craig’s disposition seemed to be quite the reverse, for his countenance showed no joviality; his round clean-shaven face looked set, and his hands as he smoothed down the front of his long coat showed a nervousness. But his companion, whom he now introduced as Mr Saviour, attorney-at-law, showed no such nervousness.

  Mr Saviour was a man of unusual height and was broad with it; his head was in proportion to his size; and his appearance was more that of a prize fighter than a man of law. But his voice held a cultured tone as he answered Dan Bannaman’s greeting of, ‘If you have a mind to come inside I can offer you some refreshment,’ with, ‘Thank you. Thank you. That will indeed be acceptable for we’ve had a busy morning.’

  These words caused a startled glance from Justice Craig; then the attention of the three men was drawn to the arched entrance to the yard through which a market cart was now passing and, on the sight of at least two of its occupants, Dan Bannaman’s manner underwent a lightning change.

  ‘What is this?’ he demanded. ‘Why is that man here?’ He was pointing directly at Roddy who was now being helped down from the cart by the two officers.

  It was the solicitor who answered, saying, ‘If we could follow your invitation and go inside, then all could be explained, sir.’

  ‘That man is not coming into…’

  ‘Then I’m afraid, Mr Bannaman, we’ll have to say what has to be said outside.’ It was the justice speaking, and as he stared Dan Bannaman straight in the eye he watched the man grind his teeth before swinging round and thrusting back the heavy oak door.

  Slowly now the two men followed him, but not before beckoning towards Roddy, Hal and the officers.

  As Roddy entered the house, preceding the other three, he saw the women. They were standing at the far end of the long hall; they were mother and daughter, and it was at the daughter he looked. His eyes rested on her only for a fleeting second, but they saw enough to convey her feelings of both fear and disdain. There was no such look on her mother’s face, only one of perplexity, and it came to him in a fleeting thought that she might be unaware of why they were all here, although at the same time her daughter was not so ignorant of the matter.

  They were now in the large room, evidently used as part library, part office, for the two side walls were lined with bookcases, while at the far end stood a large desk with various ledgers on it, one open.

  Roddy did not take his eyes off the man as he strode towards the desk where he turned and with apparent righteous indignation demanded, ‘Well, gentlemen, out with it!’

  The solicitor and the justice exchanged a questioning glance before the justice, turning his gaze on Bannaman, said, ‘First of all, I will say that a great deal of unpleasantness could be overcome if you would accompany us back to Newcastle, there to answer questions concerning a most grievous matter brought to light by this young man here.’

  ‘Grievous matter! What grievous matter could I be concerned with?’

  ‘Will you accompany us there?’

  ‘No, I certainly shall not. I haven’t the slightest idea to what you are referring. Perhaps you will be kind enough to enlighten me.’

  The justice and the solicitor again looked at each other; then the justice, drawing in a deep breath, began: ‘On a certain night in September, 1807, when this young man was a boy of seven and a half years old, he was returning along the quarry track to the cottage of a woman called Kate Makepeace, and there something happened to him and his father. It was this woman, Kate Makepeace, who next morning found the boy hanging from between the branches of a bush whilst some distance away his father was found dead under what appeared to be a stone fall. The boy’—he inclined his head to the side indicating Roddy—‘remembered nothing that happened that night. When he came to his senses he did not even know his own name; but during the years that followed he was troubled by vague impressions and dreams. It should happen, as he himself said, he unfortunately let his affections stray towards a young lady, not knowing who she was; and when one day, whilst he was speaking to her, you angrily came upon him, his latent memory stirred. Angered by your attitude towards him, and further angered by a comment his friend’—he again inclined his head but towards Hal now—‘made disparaging the lady in question, he attacked him and, as many people witnessed, they fought in the market place at Hexham. Yet, later, they returned to their homes walking side by side. All they both remember of that evening’s walk was they were attacked, bags having been thrust over their heads and arms before they were knocked senseless.

  ‘It is now common knowledge that when they were found Mr Roystan had a knife in his ribs, placed there apparently by Mr Greenbank. Yet it was later discovered that Mr Greenbank had himself been so brutally treated that it would have been impossible for him to have inflicted the wound. Now say he had done so before he was given such rough treatment, then surely Mr Roystan could never with a knife in his ribs have beaten his friend into such a state that it was feared when they were both found that it would be he who would die first. However, and strangely, it was this very treatment that restored Mr Greenbank’s memory, and he sent word through a friend who had visited him in hospital to Mr Mulcaster here saying that he remembered what had happened on that particular night. He recalled that he had seen his father murdered and thrown down into the quarry; he recalled having seen a man’s face in a grave; but most of all he recalled the face of the perpetrator. And so,’ he paused here, ‘he accuses you, Mr Bannaman, of the murder of his father, and also that of the man in the grave, a man whose memory has been defiled for years, a man who supposedly stole his employer’s money, then made off overseas, the man who was the father of Mr Roystan.’ And he now pointed to Hal whose face was grey, and whose lips were tight but whose eyes were wide and staring, giving the impression that at any moment he would spring on the man standing with his back to the desk.

  ‘This is infamous!’ Bannaman bellowed. ‘It is the result of sheer spite of that individual there’—his arm was thrust out, his finger pointing at Roddy—‘who dared to made advances towards my daughter. This is all because I threatened what I’d do to him if he approached her again. You can’t believe a word of this, surely. All right, a grave has been found with the clerk in it, but to say I had a hand in such a crime is outrageous. You’ll pay for this, all of you who dare to suggest that I…’

  It was Mr Mulcaster who stopped his flow by holding up his hand and saying quietly in an aside to the justice, ‘Patrick Feeler.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ The justice nodded. Then turning to the two officers who were standing some way behind them, he said, ‘The man…the woodman. Bring him here.’

  ‘You will do no such thing. I don’t have my woodman in my house. I…’

  ‘This is one time you must make an exception, Mr Bannaman.’ The solicitor’s voice was cool.

  ‘Don’t you dictate to me, sir! You are in my house, I will have you understand. And you will all suffer for this accusation, let me tell you.’

  The justice now broke in: his hand held up in gentle remonstrance, he said, ‘Let me advise you before you go any further, sir, there is something else you should hear. The woman, Kate Makepeace, has made a statement. She has told how her son was a member of a company, which you headed, and whose purpose was smuggling. The statement goes on to say that when it was suggested your activities should stray from smuggling merchandise to the more human kind, her son remonstrated his disagreement, as did another of the group. This man was found dead, and Kate Makepeace’s son was found near his body. All he could remember was that he had drunk heavily the previous night. However, his mother’s stateme
nt goes on to say you saw him safely shipped out of the country in order to evade a charge of murder, for it was known that Makepeace and the deceased man were drinking companions. The statement goes on to say that her son knew he was being got rid of but that he could do nothing about it; he felt that if he did not allow himself to be deported secretly he would end up like his friend, found dead in a ditch. Now what have you to say to that?’

  ‘The same as I said to your previous accusations: that woman has hated me all my life. She is a wild creature, as her folks were before her. She is of witch stock; who would believe her? As for smuggling…Years ago, yes, I might have accepted a bottle of spirit or some tobacco, but I ask you, who in this county didn’t, from parson to pauper? With the possible exception of a Quaker, there isn’t one who could say they have never handled smuggled merchandise; and so I can laugh at anything Kate Makepeace could conjure up out of her twisted mind.’

  There was the sound of scuffling outside the door; then it burst open, and the two officers thrust a thin, squirming man into the room.

  Patrick Feeler was not yet sixty but he looked to be a man well into his seventies as he stood, hunched and shaking, staring at the faces turned towards him. His body was thin and his corduroy jacket and breeches hung on him as if on a fleshless frame, but his voice came out strident as he cried, ‘What’s this, master? What’s this?’

  Dan Bannaman made no reply, but the justice, turning to Roddy, said, ‘Do you recall this man?’

  Roddy looked at the thin quivering face and he answered truthfully, ‘No. No, I don’t recall him, at least not his face. But the hand.’ When he pointed to the man’s hand, Feeler pulled it up the sleeve of his jacket, only to have one of the officers step forward and grip it, then thrust it forward for closer examination by Roddy.

  Roddy stared at the hand, which showed only the index finger and thumb beside the roughened stumps where the three fingers had once been, and he said in a voice that trembled, ‘I…I recall that. The feeling comes back of it across my mouth. It wasn’t a hand, yet I didn’t know what it was.’

  ‘’Twasn’t me. ’Twasn’t me. Anyway I just did what I was told.’

  ‘Feeler!’ It was Bannaman barking now. ‘Control yourself. You’re not being accused of anything.’

  ‘I’m not?’

  ‘No, you’re not.’

  ‘But you are.’ It was the justice speaking to him now. ‘You will be accused of being an accessory to the murder of Gabriel Roystan, clerk to the smelting works in the Barony of Langley.’

  ‘Me? No! Look, I tell you’—the man was yelling now—‘I…I didn’t. I just did what I was told. Always have. Always have.’

  ‘Were you told to waylay the clerk?’

  ‘No, no.’ The man’s head wagged from side to side as if in desperation. Then looking towards Dan Bannaman, he implored, ‘Tell them, will you, I didn’t do it. A man couldn’t do a thing like that on his own anyway. You…you said yourself.’ He gaped, his mouth wide open: the room had become still and all eyes were on him. But a movement at the top of the room brought attention from him to Dan Bannaman at the other side of his desk, and as he was about to pull open a drawer the justice called one word, ‘Constables!’

  The two men sprang forward and the pistol was knocked out of Bannaman’s hand.

  In the ensuing struggle, Bannaman seemed to have the strength of four men. He threw one constable onto his back and was about to send the other following him when the solicitor sprang forward and, getting behind Bannaman, he put his arms tightly round him which forced him to loose his hold on the constable.

  Then something strange happened that caused everyone in the room to become still. Even the first constable in the act of pulling himself up from the floor by gripping the edge of the desk held his position as he looked into the contorted face of the man he had been struggling with only moments earlier. Bannaman’s whole body had gone into a spasm that left him contorted, his hands hanging like two big flippers in front of the solicitor’s arms as if they had been frozen as they were about to break his opponent’s hold. His head had dropped to the side, his mouth was wide open and his tongue was lolling from it.

  ‘Dear God!’ Mr Mulcaster had moved to the aid of the now amazed solicitor, murmuring, ‘Lay him down, it’s a seizure. You must get a doctor. Dear, dear, dear. What now? What now?’

  The justice, turning to one of the constables, said quietly, ‘Go and call the servant, or…or better still his wife.’ His voice had trailed away as his eyes darted around the room. Then looking at Hal, he said, ‘Where is he, the woodman?’

  Hal himself now looked around; then glanced at Roddy whom he had placed in a chair, and Roddy answered simply, ‘He’s gone. He must have slipped out. But he won’t get far, he’s too well known.’ And as Hal made hurriedly towards the door, he called weakly after him, ‘Where are you goin’?’

  ‘To find him,’ Hal called back grimly. ‘He’s one who’s not gona get away, strokes genuine or faked.’ And with this he went out, leaving the door open. And again Roddy saw the two women still close but hurrying across the hall now, and when they entered the room the sight of the contorted figure on the floor brought them, aghast, to a momentary stop.

  Mrs Bannaman moved first: she ran towards her husband; the daughter walked more slowly and she stopped halfway up the room where Roddy was now standing, supporting himself against the back of the chair. His gaze full on her held deep pity, but the embers of his love died as, standing so close to him that her breath wafted over his face, and each word a hiss, she said, ‘You’re scum! You and your kind are scum. You know that? Scum! No matter what he did, you wouldn’t be fit to be his lackey, and if my brother was here I’d have him kick you out of the house.’

  Each word of the onslaught was like a blow, not only to his mind but to his weakened physique, and he thought for one agonising moment that he was about to have a recurrence of the sensations he’d had when he was recovering from the brutal assaults on his body, when he would scream out loud, then cry like a child.

  As he watched her move further up the room, then kneel down on the floor by the side of her mother, he asked himself if he had ever loved her, the woman who now looked like a fiend, and the answer he got was, yes, he had. Oh, yes, he had loved her; been crazy just for the sight of her. But why? How had it come about that he had allowed himself to feel like that? Scum, she had called him. She was the daughter of a murderer, of a man who had murdered, not once, but apparently many times, and she had dared to call him scum and class her father above him. For a moment there arose in him a hate against her as great as hers was for himself. Oh God! He was going to give way. Please, please God, don’t let him have a turn. Not here. Not here.

  ‘Sit down. Sit down.’ It was Hal speaking to him and pressing him gently onto the chair again. ‘You’ve had enough,’ he said. ‘We had better get you back.’

  He looked up at Hal and it passed through his dizzying mind that they were like brothers who had lost their father one night. And it was true; at least, both their fathers had been buried the same night. Hal’s bitterness was deeper than his own, perhaps because he had suffered more. Hal had said to him earlier that morning, ‘I want to see him hang. I’ll never feel happy again until I see them both swing.’

  He now said meekly, ‘Did you find him?’

  ‘No; he’s skipped, took a horse and made off. But he won’t get far. I’m not worryin’; I’ll get him, and I hope afore they do.’ The tone of his voice made Roddy shiver: Hal was a strange fellow, deep in his loves and hates.

  The justice was now saying, ‘When will your son be returning, Mrs Bannaman?’ And the woman answered, ‘Sometime this afternoon. ‘

  ‘I’m sorry to have to press this matter further, the state your husband is in’—the justice’s tone held concern for the woman—‘but the excisemen will wish to search the house. I hope you understand.’

  ‘No. No, I don’t.’ The reply was almost a tearful whimper, but was cut off by
her daughter’s voice, saying, ‘I do. I understand. You’re quite at liberty to search where you like because you can’t do anything further to him. Even if he lives, you couldn’t charge him, so you can do nothing more, either to him or to us.’ And on this she added, ‘Come along, dear,’ and taking her mother by the arm, she led her from the room.

  Looking after them, Hal thrust out his chin as he muttered through his clenched teeth, ‘There you’re mistaken, miss; you’ll find a lot more can be done, so much so, that you, me fine lady, will end up having your nose rubbed in the mud, and I’ll be there to see it.’ And when he ended, ‘Come the day, come the day soon,’ Roddy lowered his head and for a moment he wished from the bottom of his heart that his memory had stayed a blank.

  Ten

  Mary Ellen was seething inside with a mixture of impatience and anger. Her mistress had purposely found work for her to do well past her leaving time, and the basket she was carrying to her father was light compared to what it usually was on Sundays.

  She had never imagined her kind, although scatterbrained, little mistress, could be spiteful, but since it had been decided that Roddy had not to return to prison, this term was the only one Mary Ellen could use to describe Mrs Davison’s attitude towards her.

  It was more than three weeks since the body of Hal’s father had been found, and the district had still not settled down to normality. For days the place had swarmed with all kinds of men wanting to write about the affair. It was said some had come from as far away as London town. Mr Davison had said that this was rubbish; but it couldn’t be said to be rubbish that they had all swarmed round Kate’s cottage wanting to talk to Roddy.