A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy)

by Catherine Cookson

  She wanted to put in now and brusquely, ‘We do know we’re alive, very much alive, if pain and worry is anything to go by. People hereabouts know they are alive all right.’ There was her da trying to keep alive, gasping at life with each breath he took; there was old Mr Holden—old she thought, and him only fortyish; and Lance Ritson, who had died last week leaving seven bairns and a sickly wife. Oh they knew they were alive all right. And they knew they were dying, some of them. But she managed to curb her tongue and smile when he put out his hand and took hers and said, ‘Now everything’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, Roddy, aye.’

  ‘Bye then.’

  ‘Bye, Roddy. Take care.’

  ‘And you. And you.’

  They looked at each other for a moment longer; then she went on, and he turned and walked slowly back to the cottage…

  Her father greeted her with, ‘You’ll land on a Monday morning one of these days. Where’ve you been?’

  ‘I called at Kate’s.’ She put the basket on the table.

  ‘You generally leave that until after you’ve been here.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t the day.’

  ‘No need to be snappy.’

  When the contents of the basket were on the table he poked his head forward from where he was sitting, then said, ‘That all she sent?’

  ‘Aye, that’s all she sent.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m in her black books.’

  ‘Your tongue been waggin’ again?’

  ‘Yes, you could say that, me tongue’s been waggin’ again.’

  ‘It’ll get you hung one of these days. Don’t tell me you’ve cheeked her.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose you could say that an’ all.’

  ‘My God! You don’t know when you’re well off. What if she sacked you?’

  ‘She won’t sack me.’

  ‘What makes you so sure of that?’

  ‘’Cos I’m equal to three pit ponies, the work I do, that’s why.’

  As he shook his head she wondered if she saw a semblance of a smile on his face; but if she did it was gone with his next remark.

  ‘You’ve always thought too much of yourself, girl. It’ll get you nowhere, nowhere.’

  ‘Well, I won’t mention who I take after for that. Now forget about me an’ face up to the fact that my basket might get lighter with the months, because I can’t promise to keep me tongue quiet, so you’ll have to dip into your store, won’t you, to buy yourself the necessities.’

  ‘I’ve got no store, or very little of it left.’ He lifted up the poker and raked at the bars of the fire.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to use it until it’s gone then.’

  ‘What about your store?’ He turned his head towards her. ‘You should be tippin’ somethin’ up. She gave you a rise last year.’

  ‘Yes, threepence a week. I’m now on one and ninepence.’ She leaned towards him. ‘Do you know, if I take it into me mind I’ll up an’ go down to Hexham; there’s good jobs goin’ there for three shillings a week, sometimes more, and everything found. Now don’t aggravate me, Da, else I might just take me basket and walk that way instead of goin’ back to the farm.’

  There was a half-smile on her face as she finished and he turned to poking the fire again, and after a while he remarked, ‘Well, has his lordship gone?’

  She paused before she answered, ‘As far as I know, yes.’

  ‘Beggars on horseback ride to hell.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Oh, simply that you wouldn’t think about invitin’ an Irish pitman into the castle even if it was habitable.’

  ‘He’s no Irish pitman.’

  ‘He’ll be the equal and stick out, the folks he’s goin’ among. Them ridin’ up in their carriage to meet him and takin’ him to dine in an hotel.’

  ‘When? How do you know this?’

  ‘Oh, I have a visitor now an’ again. Didn’t you know? Didn’t he tell you? Anyway, how do you think he’ll pass himself with people like that? Carriage folk don’t take up with smelters without there’s somethin’ behind it.’

  ‘Aye, well, there is somethin’ behind it. He’s got talent. He’s an artist.’

  ‘Artist be damned! Anybody could draw what he does, given a little time.’ He twisted his head towards her now, saying, ‘You’ll never see him again, you know that, don’t you? So if you’re wise you’ll leave your petticoat on the bed at the farm.’

  ‘I’ll leave no petticoat on no bed at no farm. Now get that into your head, Da. If you think I’m gona provide for that basket’—she stabbed her finger towards the empty basket—‘being filled for you for the rest of your life, then you’re mistaken. Now, I see you’re well stacked up with wood an’ coal, so you can keep on stackin’ it up for yourself, and also tidyin’ the rooms, because for me, I’ve had enough for one day, so I’m goin’.’

  ‘But you’ve only come.’ He half rose from the chair.

  ‘Aye, and I wish I hadn’t passed through the door. I’m sick of everything. Do you hear that? Sick and tired.’ She grabbed up the basket, pulled the string of her bonnet tight under her chin, then marched to the door, and as she opened it he yelled at her, ‘You’ve seen the last of him. Make up your mind to it, or else you’ll end up a kizzened old stick like Betty Fullman.’

  She had the door latch in her hand as she swung round, and she was even astonished at her own words as she cried back at him, ‘No, I won’t end up like Betty Fullman, not if I have anything to do with it. More like Maggie Oates. And I could start the morrow. So think on that. And if I did you could be sure of your basket being full then.’ And with this she banged the door, then took to her heels and ran till she reached the copse where the trees had been cut down. And there she sank down onto the damp earth between the stumps and, kneeling over a gnarled root, gave vent to her pent-up feelings.

  When, after some minutes, she sat up and brought her knuckles across her streaming eyes, she thought to herself, fancy saying she would end up like Maggie Oates who, as everybody knew for miles around, was a really bad woman and shunned by all other women hereabouts because she was so sinful. And yet, she always seemed so cheery. She had never forgotten the times when she herself was a little girl, she’d always had a kind word for her. Her da had forbidden her ever to speak to the woman, so when Maggie Oates stopped her to chat, she never let on at home. Except once. She had asked her mother if sinning made people happy because Mrs Oates was always laughing. But for her to say to her da that she would become like Maggie Oates, well, what had come over her? It was this tongue of hers, it said things that were never intended.

  As she rose to her feet and dusted the twigs from the bottom of her skirt, she asked herself, if she had the choice who would she rather be like, Betty Fullman, who lived in a cottage near the ruined castle and who was so proper that nearly all the workmen called her miss, or Maggie Oates, whom the workmen joked about and visited on the sly?

  At this moment she couldn’t give herself a truthful answer.

  Eleven

  She had to hold her hat on with both hands as she struggled against the wind. It was a nice wind, fresh and lifting. The sun was shining, the sky was high. The hills as far as she could see appeared to be coated with carpets of yellow, red, and brown, mostly brown, but a bright warm brown. The blood in her veins seemed to be bubbling with life, good, happy, free life. And she felt free as she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. But more so, she had a feeling of belonging, and to the only one she wanted to belong to in the whole world and who was now striding by her side, laughing at her.

  Roddy had kept his word. Not having seen him for two weekends, she had given up all hope that he would remember his promise to take her to the fair. But last night Kate had got word to her through Paul Fowler. He had come out of his way from his shift at the mill to give her the message, which just said she had to be there early if she wanted to catch the cart.

  Early had meant leaving the far
m at ten o’clock at the latest; and then, although her mistress had some weeks ago reluctantly agreed she could change her leave day from Sunday to Saturday—and yes, since she was so bent on it she could have the whole day—she had of a sudden changed her mind and said there was too much to do and that she couldn’t let her go before twelve.

  Mary Ellen had actually cried with vexation, but had kept a curb on her tongue. And this, it seemed had caused her mistress to relent, saying she could go at eleven, and yet knowing full well that that would be too late to catch the cart into Hexham.

  When she had left the farm wearing her first pair of white cotton gloves which she had bought from a pedlar the previous week, Mrs Davison sent her on her way with a prophecy: ‘No good will come of this, girl, flaunting yourself in the face of God and good neighbours. You’ll get your name up, that you will.’

  Kate then had her say about the farmer’s wife not letting her get away, but Roddy was unperturbed. ‘We’ll go to Allendale,’ he said. ‘It’ll be a fine walk on a day like this.’

  And so it was turning out to be. She much preferred this arrangement to going into Hexham, for from the moment they took their seats in the cart they would have been surrounded by people, whereas here in these wide open spaces that rolled away on all sides into the sky, there was not one person to be seen, except the man at her side, not even a house to be espied, only grey dots of sheep spotting the ground. And she felt this was as near heaven as she would ever get. She didn’t even mind Roddy talking so much about Newcastle and his new friends, because he was talking, and talking to her as if he wanted her to know all about his life there and, as she imagined, to take away any fears that she might have that his interests were other than his drawing.

  ‘I thought you liked living on the waterfront?’ she shouted across at him.

  ‘I do. Yes, I do. It’s wonderful, But there’s tremendous noise and bustle all the time, so when Mr Cottle offered me a room in their house I jumped at it. He’s a portrait painter.’

  ‘But I thought you said it was a painter who lived in the house on the waterfront where you had the attic, the one who does the ships and things.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I did. That’s Mr Beale. He’s a professional man and he liked the bustle, but you want a bit of peace and quiet when you have to study, and there’s none on the waterfront. Oh no.’

  ‘I’d like to see the waterfront.’

  ‘Well, all right, I’ll take you one day.’

  ‘You will, Roddy?’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’

  She had stopped. Her two hands going up to her hat again, her head back, she looked at him. His eyes were bright and shining; his straight brows were as black as the hair that was showing from under each side of his cap; his skin, that had always appeared as if it was tanned, had a slight flush to it around the high cheekbones and it took on a blue hue of restricted hair towards his chin.

  He was a pretty man. Oh, far beyond pretty, he was beautiful. Since that awful do he had lost flesh, but that only seemed to have made him taller. Altogether he was beautiful.

  ‘When will you take me?’

  ‘Oh.’ He opened his mouth and laughed. All his teeth were even and unbroken; she saw that his tongue was not furred like those of a lot of men whose open mouths created in her a feeling of revulsion. Farmer Davison’s was like that.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said, whenever the dragon will let you have a full day off, so we can take the coach in.’

  ‘You’d take me in the coach?’

  ‘Well, yes, unless you’d like to walk.’

  Her laughter joined his now. Then she turned from him and ran skipping over the hummocks in the ground, and at one point when she left loose of her hat to lift up her skirt in order that she could run faster, her hatpins came loose and her hat took flight, and she turned to see Roddy retrieving it. And when he had brought it to her he stood looking at her, and the expression in his eyes was soft. She did not put out her hands to take the hat because she wanted him to put it on for her, but he didn’t, he handed it to her, asking, ‘How many hatpins had you in it?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Well, I should say you’ve lost one.’

  ‘Eeh!’—the smile went from her face—‘the mistress gave them to me for a present last Christmas. She’ll be vexed.’

  ‘Well, there’s one thing certain, you’ll never find it among that lot.’ He pointed to the grass and stubble. ‘Sometime, if somebody sits down, they might come across it.’

  Again they were laughing, loudly now, at the picture his remark had presented, and when he placed his two hands on his buttocks and gave a slight jump, crying, ‘Oops-a-daisy,’ she told herself she would die with her laughing for she had never seen Roddy in this mood. This was a different Roddy. He had never been one for jokes, being of a sombre turn of mind, she thought, but he had changed. Everything about him was changed, including his manner towards her. Oh yes, that was warmer, different. And when presently walking on, he took her hand, she knew that this day was the beginning of something wonderful that would fill her lifetime right till the day she died. Oh yes; for she would go to her grave loving him.

  And the feeling persisted until they entered Allendale.

  The square was packed. There were carriages outside the inns. There were mingled sounds of laughter and quarrelling, because half the men there were the worse for drink.

  ‘Oh Lord, I forgot about that,’ Roddy said; ‘yesterday would be the day of the pays. They’re burning their money or washing it down. We’ll have a job to get anything to eat here. It’ll likely be a stand-up pie and peas.’

  ‘That’ll suit me. I’m so full up with food I could last for a week. I’ll say that for the missis, she’s never stingy on the table.’

  ‘You’re lucky then.’ He took her arm and pushed her round the outskirts of a group of women, farmers’ wives by the look of their dress and the baskets on their arms, and towards the far side of the square where the pies-and-peas stall stood. And they didn’t go unnoticed, and she felt a burst of pride as different people called out to him, ‘How goes it, Roddy?’

  ‘Back on your pins?’

  ‘By! You’re lookin’ set up.’

  ‘How’s life in the big city?’

  And to all he answered merely with a laugh and a wave of his hand. That was, until they both came to a dead stop. Hal had turned from talking to two other men and he looked first from one to the other before saying, ‘Well, well! The people you meet in a foreign country. Come to spend your pay?’ He was addressing Mary Ellen, but it was Roddy who answered and on a laugh, saying, ‘Aye, she’s treatin’ me: pies and peas and a pint of ale.’ Then he added on a more serious note, ‘I called round this mornin’ but couldn’t see hilt nor hair of you.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t, because as Parson Phillips-Brown would put it, I was about me father’s business.’

  They had, the three of them, been making their way together towards the stall. But with Hal’s words they turned as one and stood in the comparatively empty space near an archway that led into the back of a building.

  ‘Oh, man!’ Roddy said, ‘he’ll be gone miles away by now. Likely he’s takin’ the trip that they said your da took, across the water.’

  ‘No, not him.’ Hal’s eyes were narrowed and he was looking away from them over the heads of the crowd milling about the square, and he repeated, ‘No, not him. He wouldn’t have the guts. He’s here, round about somewhere. It’s as though I can smell him.’ He actually sniffed now. ‘He’s undercover somewhere. Somebody’s hiding him. It isn’t his wife or his daughter, I made sure of that. By the way’—he turned and looked fully at Roddy now—‘did you know they were turfed out yesterday, the Bannamans, lock, stock and barrel?’

  ‘No.’ Roddy’s voice was quiet.

  ‘Aye.’ Hal was smiling now, a grim smile. ‘I changed me shift when I got wind of it so I could watch it. After the evidence they found in that cellar, the excisemen recko
ned there was very little left for the family. The jewellery goes to Newcastle where it will likely be claimed. All their other stuff was taken into Newcastle to sell. The farm will go onto the market next week. But they left in a carriage. Oh aye, they had to leave in a carriage: the mother, the son and heir, and her, and you know, she spoke to me.’ He nodded at Roddy. ‘She leant out of the window and her voice was like that of a fishwife as she yelled at me, “We’ll be back. Remember that, we’ll be back,” she said. And I answered her in a voice as loud as her own. “I’ve no doubt,” I said; “there’s good pickin’s on the Newcastle to Edinburgh road.”’

  It was as if a blight had come on the day. Mary Ellen was standing with her head bowed, and the brightness had gone from Roddy’s face and his voice was sullen as he said, ‘What’s past is past. You cannot raise the dead. And you weren’t the only one to lose a father. You want to remember that.’

  ‘Oh aye, I do.’ Hal pursed his lips and his head moved up and down before he repeated, ‘Aye, I do.’ Then his voice changing to a deep growl, he said, ‘But I was the only one made to feel like muck, I was the only one who had a mark on him. If me da had been caught stealing and hanged for it, I would have been the son of a kind of hero. But no, they said he had done off, taken money out of the country. That was unforgivable. But anyway, as you’ve heard, I’m to be compensated.’ His voice rose now to a mimicking cheeriness: ‘I’m to go before my lords and masters in the City of Newcastle come next Wednesday and, as I understand it from Mr Mulcaster, I’m gona be compensated for all the pain of me youth, for the stigma on my name, and that on me father. Now isn’t that something? What do you think I’ll get? Give a guess.’

  ‘Whatever it is, I hope it’ll be enough to satisfy you.’

  The artificial smile on Hal’s face was again replaced by grimness, and a suppressed anger sounded in his voice when he said, ‘You know something, Roddy? I don’t think you give a tinker’s curse about what happened to your father. All your remembering meant to you was saving your own skin, and you wouldn’t have done that if it hadn’t been for her.’ He made a sharp movement with his head towards Mary Ellen. ‘She ran here and there like a scalded cat to save you, and what’s her reward, and Kate’s too, come to that, and everybody else’s? You jump at the chance to get away from us all and live in Newcastle among your new fine friends. But have you thought what might happen if you don’t come up to their expectations? Because you know you’re not all that God Almighty bright with your pencil; there’s others about here, given a little time, could come up to you, and pass you.’