A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy)

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘I…I don’t feel they’re there.’

  ‘Oh, they’re there all right.’ She smiled at him while endeavouring to hold back her tears of relief.

  ‘Demon.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Her. She’s a demon.’

  ‘Who, Hal? Who?’

  ‘Bannaman.’

  At the sound of his voice, the other constable who had come on duty came to his side and, bending down, he said. ‘You know who did this to you?’

  ‘Bannaman.’ The name was stronger now. ‘The daughter and…and son.’

  ‘My God! A woman? She strung you up?’

  ‘She…she strung me up.’ He closed his eyes as he muttered, ‘Sent me…into…the next world.’

  ‘You’re back, Hal, you’re back.’ Mary Ellen was patting his cheek gently and she signalled to the constable not to say any more.

  As the constable moved back to the table, Hal opened his eyes and, gazing at Mary Ellen, he said, ‘You found me?’

  ‘No…the dog.’

  ‘Boyo?’

  At the sound of his name, the dog came from where it had been lying near the child’s basket and, stretching across the mattress, he licked Hal’s face. And Hal, putting his hand on his head, a little of his old manner returning, said, ‘Irish tinker. I’ll…I’ll pay him double when…when I next see him.’

  Twenty-two

  It was three days before Hal was sufficiently recovered to get on his feet; and then, as he said, he felt like a child taking its first steps, and the effort was painful, especially round the knee joints.

  Mary Ellen had fed him with broth and whatever he could eat of the dishes that Annie had brought over from the farm. The big woman’s first visit had been a painful scene, for she had stood over him and cried unashamedly. And Mary Ellen had felt deep sorrow for her and for a moment she had thought, Oh, ’tis a pity you’re not younger; then had asked herself why on earth she should think that the way she herself felt. But nevertheless, she could gauge the loneliness and want in this big woman.

  Her face awash with tears, Annie had assured Hal that his animals were all right, his house was all right, and Terry was doing fine. He had nothing whatever to worry about, but…would he please come back soon?

  When she had left, Hal had sighed and said, ‘She’s a good lass. She’s wasted.’

  The first walk Hal took was up the room to the bed where Mary Ellen placed a chair for him, and there he sat and held Kate’s hand. And as she looked at him she said again the one word, ‘Bannaman.’ And he nodded at her and said, ‘Aye, Kate, aye, Bannaman.’ Then smiling faintly, he said, ‘They meant to wipe all the Roystans off the map, but they slipped up this time.’

  ‘Have…have they found them?’

  ‘No, not yet, Kate, but they’re lookin’.’

  The fingers within his scratched gently on his flesh as she said, ‘Time’s nearly up, Hal. I can go now…any time now…Hal.’

  ‘Yes, Kate?’ He bent over her, the muscles of his face twitching.

  ‘Mary Ellen. See to Mary Ellen.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Kate. Don’t worry. Mary Ellen will be all right.’

  ‘Hal.’

  ‘Yes, Kate?’

  ‘See to Mary Ellen.’

  He drew in a long breath, then said, ‘I know what you mean, Kate. I know what you mean. I’ll try.’

  ‘Don’t…don’t wait for him…Roddy. He’s…he’s past.’

  ‘Would you like to see him, Kate?’

  She did not answer for a time, but closed her eyes, then muttered, ‘’Tis no matter, ’tis no matter. Pat is here. Came yesterday.’ She smiled wanly, and he left loose of her hand and laid it gently on the counterpane. Then rising stiffly, he walked slowly down the room and, dropping onto the form by the fire, he looked towards Mary Ellen’s back. She was standing at the table cutting up some meat and he said quietly, ‘I think we’d better send for him.’

  Her hands became still before she said, ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I think it had better be an express letter.’

  ‘I’ll get somebody to take it into Hexham to meet the coach going into Newcastle. It’ll go quickly from there.’

  He continued to stare at her back as he muttered, ‘Aye, it’ll go quickly from there. He could be here if he liked in four days or so.’

  When she made no answer but went on with her work, he said, ‘She thinks her son is here, Pat, and likely he is.’

  ‘Could you get word to him an’ all after she goes?’

  ‘’Twould be a hard job, he died last year. The letter came to her. I picked it up from the carrier. It was in a different hand, proper writing. I opened it. It was a preacher. Reading atween the lines Pat had died in a fight. Well, the other one had just gone and I felt she’d had enough for the time being, so tore the thing up.’

  She gazed at him. What would he do next? He was a law unto himself; yet that action had been thoughtful.

  He was saying now, ‘I’ll have to be making me way back,’ causing her to turn towards him and say sharply, ‘You’ll do no such thing; you can hardly stand on your legs yet. You’ll stay where you are for the next couple of days.’

  He kept his eyes on her as he said, ‘That’s all very well; but you can’t expect that little lad to carry on on his own.’

  ‘He’s not carryin’ on on his own, he’s got Annie there an’ all.’

  ‘Oh, aye, Annie.’ He smiled wanly now. ‘A treasure is Annie. I don’t know what I’d do without Annie.’ A teasing note had come into his voice.

  She did not respond in like manner but, her face serious, she said, ‘That’s true. I don’t know what you’d do without her, nor me for that matter; she’s kept us goin’ in milk and food for the past days; so sit yourself still…’

  Sometime later, having attended to Kate, washed the breakfast crocks, done the hearth, brought in more wood and water, and fed the child, she took out a square of paper from a drawer, and a pencil and, sitting down at the table, chewed on the end of the pencil for a moment, then started to write. She did not begin, ‘Dear Roddy,’ but said simply,

  ‘Kate is nearing her end, I think you should come.’

  She did not even sign her name. Her sprawled writing covered a third of the page. Then folding it up she wrote the address on one side of it, before going to the fire, where she lit a taper, took a piece of wax from the box on the mantelpiece and sealed the letter, then returned the wax to the box, knowing all the while her actions were being watched by Hal. But he made no comment on what she was doing until, a shawl about her, she went towards the door, saying, ‘Give an eye to her. I won’t be long,’ when he asked quietly, ‘Have you got the money on you to send it?’

  Her lips fell into a tight line. She hadn’t thought about the money. She went back to the mantelpiece, lifted the lid of another small box and took out two shillings; then holding it in the palm of her hand, she asked quietly, ‘Will that be enough?’

  ‘More I should say; a shilling’ll be enough.’

  ‘To send it quickly?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Anyway, ask the carter. And if it’s Beardy Smith, give him a penny for himself ’cos he’ll have to go out of his way to get it to the coach.’

  She nodded at him her agreement, then went out.

  Once the door had closed on her, Hal bent forward and put his elbows on his knees and dropped his face onto his hands. He felt sick, not from the pain that was still in his limbs, nor from the feeling of fear that he seemed unable to get rid of for it had buried itself too deep, so deep in those first two days of agony that he felt he would have to live a number of lifetimes to be the same man again, one who hadn’t been afraid of anything or anyone; no, this particular sickness was centred in his chest, for he knew that once Roddy stepped into this room life as he had known it during these past months would never be the same again. Her feelings towards himself had changed, they certainly weren’t as they had been, he knew that, but she would only have to see him and she would
be back where she was, at his feet.

  He dropped his hands from his face, and they hung limply down between his knees, and he stared at the child lying gurgling in the basket. What would be his reactions when he saw her? Feel it his duty to marry Mary Ellen and take her back with him. He doubted it. There was a draw up in London town that had held him close for the past year. His last letter had spoken of how hard he was working towards some kind of test; the previous one had spoken of an exhibition his tutor said he must attend. All excuses, excuses. He was a skunk, a selfish self-preserving skunk.

  He pulled himself to his feet and glanced up the room to the still form on the bed. That woman up there, too, had loved him, like perhaps she had never loved her own son. And what must her thoughts have been this past year? By God! No matter what happened, should he ever enter that door, or wherever he came across him, he would give him the length of his tongue. It was a pity he wasn’t feeling fit, or he would give him the length of his arm and his fist into his good-looking face.

  His thoughts now made him wonder what he had seen in him all those years; why he had trailed him as he had done. Oh, he knew why he had done since he was eighteen or so, but not before that. Likely, as he had already told himself a number of times, out of gratitude for being offered his friendship when he was being shunned by everybody else. Yet, he knew that Roddy had been as lonely as he had been, and more mixed up, if the truth was told, for he hadn’t known who he was or where he had come from. And so in that case there should have been gratitude on both sides. But it had all come from him.

  The child made a slight whining noise, and he went over to the basket and gently picked her up and cradled her in his arms. It was strange, he felt no resentment about the child, it was as if she belonged to him as well as to Mary Ellen. What would happen to him if they both disappeared from his life? He knew what would happen, he’d rot slowly. But he wouldn’t die…Huh! he might even take Annie in for comfort.

  The latter had come into his mind as a form of joke, and as he sat rocking the child gently, he thought, Perhaps not so much of a joke either; man was so made he needed a mother in some form or other until the day he died.

  Kate died in her sleep that night. At what hour they didn’t know. Mary Ellen came down from the loft around five o’clock where she had been sleeping on a makeshift straw-filled pallet. She had the child tight pressed to her by one arm and she was surprised to find the lamp lit, the fire going, and Hal sitting on the settle fully dressed.

  She did not go to the bed but towards him and her first words were, ‘You feelin’ bad?’

  ‘No, no.’ He got to his feet and then, inclining his head towards the bed, he said, softly, ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Aw! Aw!’ She quickly put the child into the basket, then hurried up the room, and there by the side of the bed she stood and with her hand over her mouth, a gesture which always indicated her intense feeling of the moment, the tears ran down her cheeks and she muttered thickly, ‘Aw, Kate, Kate.’ And looking to where Hal stood at the foot of the bed, she said, ‘I…I don’t know what I’m goin’ to do without her. She…she was more than a mother to me.’

  ‘Aye. And to more than you.’

  She glanced towards him. Yes, he was right, and to more than her, for in a way Kate had been the only mother he had known.

  He said now, quietly, ‘She understood me when no-one else did,’ then added on a different note, ‘She…she must have been really bonny when she was young. Look. Look at her face now. Most of the lines have gone.’

  Yes—Mary Ellen nodded to herself—it was strange, most of the lines had gone. She looked happy. Death was a funny thing. No, not funny, that was the wrong word, odd, frightening. And yet there was nothing to be frightened about, looking at Kate now. It was the first time she had actually seen a dead person. She had seen numbers of dead cattle and had never got used to the sight, especially when it was an animal she had talked to.

  She felt Hal’s hand on her arm. He was saying, ‘Come away now, come away. She wouldn’t want you to cry for her. She thought the world of you, you know that. Come on.’ He led her down the room again to the fire and pressed her gently onto the settle, saying, ‘I’ve made some porridge.’

  When he handed her the bowl of porridge and laid a jug of milk to the side of her on the settle, she wanted to say, I can’t eat it. But he was being thoughtful, so she must try.

  She had eaten half the porridge when he said, ‘She’ll have to be laid out. Can you do it?’

  ‘No, no,’ she spluttered on a mouthful of the oats. ‘I couldn’t do that. I’ll have to get Mrs Patterson.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s all right., Don’t distress yourself. I’ll go along to the village and tell her as soon as it breaks light.’

  ‘Are you up to it?’

  ‘I’ve got to go out into the wide world sometime, Mary Ellen. Another couple of nights here and you won’t get rid of me.’ He was staring at her. The firelight was playing on her face, bringing out highlights where her cheeks were still wet. And he wondered how he was going to face the wide world after these few days spent with her in this room. But face it he must, and gather up strength for what was to come when he arrived.

  ‘It’s a good job you got the letter off yesterday,’ he said. ‘It would leave on the mail coach from Newcastle round half past nine. I think that’s the time it goes. Something more than a day and a half I reckon it takes. He could be here within four days.’

  The spoon halfway to her mouth, she stopped her hand, saying, ‘That’s if he leaves right away.’

  ‘Aye, yes, as you say, if he leaves right away.’

  He could not prevent himself now from asking the question that was rampant in his mind: ‘What’s goin’ to happen when you do see him?’

  She put the spoon of porridge twice more into her mouth before laying the plate aside on the settle, and then she said quietly, ‘That remains to be seen.’

  After Mrs Patterson had finished laying out Kate she took a seat by the fire and in a tone that held some reprimand, she said, ‘It’s usual to have a drop of somethin’ in at a time like this, a drop of spirit; if not, ale of some kind. As I said, ’tis usual. But then you’re young and not as yet used to death. That’ll come though with time. Still, I thought Kate, even with her potions, would have held a little bit aside. She wasn’t above a drop years ago when it flowed freely. I know that.’

  Apologetically, Mary Ellen said, ‘There…there was some brandy, but we had to give it to Hal.’

  ‘Oh, aye, aye. That’s another thing: he’s on his feet now and able to move; I think it would be wise if he got himself away back to his farm, ’cos people talk you know. Oh aye, people talk. He could have been near dead when they brought him in, but that was some days ago. You don’t want to get a name like another Maggie Oates, now do you?’

  Mary Ellen swung round ready to yell her protest at this gossiping old woman, but knowing that she was under an obligation to her, all she could say was, ‘Oh, Mrs Patterson.’

  ‘Aye, well, lass, I’m only speakin’ for your own good; you can’t stop people’s tongues. And you’ve got to admit, since Kate put you on to this potion and herb business there’s been more men here than there’s been at Maggie’s.’

  ‘Mrs Patterson, what you hintin’ at? You know it isn’t true, none of it.’

  ‘Oh, lass, you needn’t start an’ bubble. As I say, I’m only speakin’ for your own good. ’Cos you got your name up with one, you don’t want to have it with another. And he’s got his name up already, has Hal, encouragin’ that Annie Gordon to make a fool of herself. Comin’ over here every day with food for him. They say she’s never off his doorstep and her with whiskers on her chin. Eeh! What some women will do for a man. If they only knew what it was all about afore they started, they’d run the other way. By God, they would! Anyway, I’m off now and perhaps you don’t know it but…well, I charge a shillin’ for layin’ and gettin’ rid of the muck.’

  Mary Ellen closed
her eyes for a moment before going to the mantelpiece, from where she took down the box and, taking out a shilling, she handed it to the older woman.

  Looking at it in the palm of her hand, Mrs Patterson said, ‘Aye, well, nothing under, nothing over, I suppose,’ and without further words picked up her shawl from the back of the chair and went out.

  Mary Ellen lowered herself slowly down onto the settle and she folded her arms tightly across her breasts and leant her head back against the wooden support as if she was resisting some force, which indeed she was, for she wanted to shout out her protests against the gossiping tongues. Even when she told herself to remember that everybody wasn’t like Mrs Patterson, that there were kindly women hereabouts and that many of them had come to the door to enquire after both Kate and her, she still knew it just needed a woman like Mrs Patterson to start a rumour and even the nice ones would say: Well, there’s never smoke without fire.

  What was she going to do now? Kate gone and she here on her own. And every time Hal entered the door she’d be conscious that someone had seen him, and that they were all putting two and two together. And there would be no doubt that after a while other men would come knocking at the door supposedly for potions, and definitely after dark.

  There was a way out, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it: that kind of thing had to come from the man, because men being what they were, even the best of them, if you made the first step they would hold it against you forever after. Look what had happened with Roddy. She had made the first step there all right, hadn’t she? Rushed in with both feet, and arms outstretched, and he had flown. ’Twas no use telling herself that he had been on the point of flying in any case. What had happened that night had scared him so much that he had made every excuse not to come back. So that’s what would happen, she supposed, even in a minor way to any woman who made the first move. No, whatever was to happen between her and Hal had to come from him; she couldn’t make herself cheap again.