‘There’s no washing the morrow.’ This came from Florrie, her voice quiet, a soft smile on her face.
‘Then Tuesday or whatever.’
‘Be quiet, tousle-head.’ Hal looked down the table towards his eldest daughter; then shifting his gaze on to Mary Ellen, he said, ‘To Kate, lass, to Kate.’
They all stood up and raised their glasses and they drank while Kate’s head lowered and her lids closed and the tears pressed from beneath them, and Maggie cried, ‘Oh, our Kate, don’t start to bubble. It’s unlucky if you bubble.’
‘No, no, it isn’t; it’s only unlucky if you don’t.’
They all looked towards Mary Ellen now, and she went on, ‘Have you ever known of a bride who doesn’t cry? It would be like an Irish wake without a pig on the spit and whisky in the teapot.’
‘Oh, Mam!’ They were all laughing again. ‘The things that you come out with.’
‘Well, let’s go into the sitting room and have a sing-song.’ Hal was already on his feet, and he walked down the length of the table, but before he reached Mary Ellen, his hands came to rest gently, one on the back of each tilted chair. Then taking Mary Ellen’s arm, he led her from the room; and the family followed, but only after each of them had made his way to the two chairs and laid his or her hands gently on the backs. It was a ceremony that had been enacted ever since they had lost their brother and sister, and it was one that had caused not a little talk in those who had been guests and had witnessed it.
It was said round about that it was a strange and unhealthy thing to do to keep the dead alive in a dining room. But then Hal Roystan was a very strange man, a man who had spent his earlier working years since he was a young lad in the smelting mill, and then, starting with the few pounds the owners had given him in compensation following the murder of his father while in their employ, he had built up the most thriving farming business for miles around. Moor Vale was his fourth place in twenty-five years, and it was said he now lived like a lord, and had educated his children as if they were class. But be that as it may, he was still not accepted by the real people of the county and never would be, for his wife had had a bastard before he married her; and she was odd, too, in her own way, for she could make up potions and pills for man and beast that benefited both better than any doctor’s medicine. Yet she only did it when she thought fit and for those whom she liked; others got short shrift should they go to her door.
No, the Roystans might live like lords and copy the gentry inside the house in the way they ate and outside in the way they rode for their horses were all good breeds, and they ran a trap, a dog cart and a brake, besides all the farm carts, but people had long memories and, given the chance, didn’t let them forget from where they had come.
And many prophesied that the Roystans had gone up as far as they could, and that now the road would be downhill. And who would be to blame but themselves for getting too big for their boots. However, it had to be admitted he paid more than a fair wage to his one hired man, although he expected him to sweat for it, as he did three of his sons who worked on the farm. The latest news was that the second youngest one, Hugh, was going in for law. Now would you believe that? If it had been one of the twins, people might have understood it, because they, if you could put the word to them, appeared more refined, whereas the last two of the brood, Hugh and Gabriel, had been known to be tough since they were lads, and they were already in and out of scrapes. They were likeable enough, but rough. Yet, here was one of them going in for law.
Hal Roystan had seen to it that each one of his family had been given the chance of an education. The girls had gone to a dame school in Hexham, and the twins had gone to school until they were fifteen. But the last two, they had been sent into Newcastle. It had been expected that Gabriel would go into shipping, but no, he brings his fine education back and says he wants to work on the farm, at least for a time. And so Roystan had bought more land; and it had prospered.
But it was also said around that Hal Roystan’s interest didn’t lie only in farming, he had his fingers in other pies, and when Langley Smelting Mills were rented by the Greenwich Hospital to Messrs. Wilson, Lee and Company, in eighteen and thirty-three, it was rumoured he had tried to get a share in there. Some said that tale was but a joke because his wife’s name had been Lee before he married her. But it was no rumour that he had been after a brick works which was close to the farm he had at the time, but had been outbidded there.
Oh, he was a deep one was Roystan. Everyone knew. But wouldn’t you have thought he would have got somebody better than Harry Baker for his ugly duckling. It was common knowledge why Harry was taking her: he had his eye open to the main chance, had Harry; although the lass wasn’t Roystan’s own, it was known he was very fond of her, and would see her all right. And that meant Harry would be all right, for his father would neither work nor want, and Harry himself wasn’t all that eager; if he could take the easy way out, he did. And that’s what he was doing by marrying Roystan’s big ’un. And by! She was a big piece, and as plain as they came. She was credited with having a nice enough nature, but it wasn’t the nature you looked across the table at in the long years of marriage, it was a face, and the nicest nature in the world couldn’t do much to improve what God had given you…
So it was said. And Kate Roystan, having inherited the sensibility of her mother, wasn’t unaware of the gossip and chatter that her forthcoming marriage had evoked. And now, in a room at the end of the long corridor which had been added to the house a few years back, she looked about her at the familiar and loved objects she had grown up with, and she opened her mouth wide in order to take in a great gasp of air in an endeavour to settle the turmoil that was churning up her stomach. Slowly she began to undress, and when she was in her nightgown she went to the seat that was placed before the mahogany dressing table that stood crosswise in the corner of the room, and she sat down so sharply on the seat that the springs creaked. Then pushing towards the mirror a china tray that held some trinkets, she put her forearms on the polished wood and laid her head on them.
Should she do it?
She was sick of the sound of these words in her mind. She had got this far so she must do it. That’s if she wanted a family so badly. And how other would she ever be able to have a family? This was the one and only chance that would ever come her way. She had faced up to that. As also she had faced up to the reason why Harry Baker had chosen her. More rightly it could be said he had chosen her father, or the man she thought of as her father, and the prosperity that was his.
She raised her head, at the same time pulling towards her the candlestick that was standing near the end of the dressing table, and now, leaning her face closer towards the mirror, she asked another question of it, one she had asked again and again over the years but had never received an answer: Why did she look like this? She recalled the day she first asked herself this question through this mirror. She had never really seen herself till then. But her father had been to a sale in a big house on the outskirts of Haydon Bridge, and there had bought two full bedroom suites, both solid mahogany, and one had a full length mirror. She was fifteen at the time and she had looked at herself from head to foot. It had been in broad daylight and the sun was on her, and moving ever closer to the mirror she had picked out her features one by one. Why should her mouth be so wide and full-lipped when her sister Maggie’s was like a rosebud? Why was her nose so big, bigger than those of the twins? Why was her hair straight with no kink in it, not like Maggie’s soft waves, and Florrie’s that was all curls? Why was her skin blotchy?
She had asked this particular question of her mother before. Because she drank too much cream, and that all young people had blotchy skins, had been the answer. From that day she had never touched cream, and she still disliked it, and yet her skin now, if not blotchy, had a thick texture.
When she reached her eyes, she knew they were all right. Her father had said she had beautiful eyes and a nice voice, but she knew she would gladly e
xchange these two attributes to look like Maggie or Florrie.
Peg had once said to her, ‘You’ve got what none of the rest of us have, Kate, that’s a sort of—’ She had stopped and fumbled for a word, then said, ‘Appeal,’ and went on to say, ‘Perhaps character would be a better word. People listen to you when you talk, they never do to me.’ Dear Peg. Sweet Peg. She had loved Peg. The house had never been the same since Peg and Walter had gone.
Tonight at the table she had thought, and with sadness, that her going was the reason for the first jolly meal they had had in years. There had been times when the table had witnessed the most uproarious meals, for her father didn’t believe in ‘speak when you’re spoken to’; instead he encouraged them all to talk. But tonight they had given her a grand send-off, for it was the last meal she would share with them. Oh, there’d be the wedding feast, and that would be a feast indeed, for her mother and the girls had worked like Trojans for the past week, baking and decorating meats and pies…and the cake. It was a sight to behold, white, no colour at all, virgin white.
The thought brought her to her feet and she stood for a moment, her arms folded about her as if hugging herself. There was one thing to be thankful for, she had no need to be ashamed of her body. It was big but it was well formed and firm. But what did that matter after all? Your body was always wrapped up from your toes to your neck. It never saw the light of day, except with one person. The thought brought her head to the side and her teeth clenching. She didn’t know how she was going to stand that. It wasn’t that she wasn’t fond of Harry and grateful to him, but that wasn’t love: it wasn’t the thing that existed between her mother and father, the thing that had brought nine children into the world.
No, no—she swung round now and walked to the bed and sat on the edge of it, her big firm hands pressing her nightgown down between her knees—children could come without love. Oh yes, yes. You had only to look round the cottages swarming with bairns. It didn’t seem to matter if they died young, there were always more to take their places, and while the women mourned, the men had a solace, they could drink themselves silly and probably get rid of their frustration afterwards in brawling. Oh yes, it didn’t need love to bring a child into the world. So she could be sure of one thing, she would have a family; and another thing, she’d make Harry work in order to get a decent farm. And from the beginning she would tell him that they weren’t going to rely on her father’s kindness. No doubt that would shock him, for she knew he had been receiving liberally of late.
In a few minutes time her mother and the girls would be coming in for a last chat. And that, she didn’t think she could stand without breaking down. There must be no more talk from now on; from now on words would only induce tears and through tears her true feelings might be brought to the surface.
Quickly she got up from the bed and extinguished the candle; then getting between the sheets, she turned on her side and buried her face in the pillow, and as she had done as a child she put the end of her thumb in her mouth and began biting on it.
At the other end of the corridor Mary Ellen climbed into the big four-poster and laid her head on the arm that was waiting for her, and Hal said, ‘Now stop worrying; everything’s going to be all right. As you said yourself, it’s her only chance. The only thing I wish is, it was somebody different who was giving it to her. But still, she seems to get on with him.’
‘She doesn’t, else she would be willing to talk; she pretended to be asleep. And…and Hal, I hope you realise you’ll have him on your back for a long time.’
‘Oh, no, I won’t.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I gave it to him plain this afternoon when I gave him…’
‘What did you give him?’
‘Oh. A few bob to get him set up.’
‘You’ve been settin’ him up for months now. What did you give him?’
‘Well, I gave him a hundred pounds.’
‘A hundred pounds!’
‘Aye, yes, and keep your voice down, I gave him a hundred pounds. But I told him that was the last and he had to build on that, and it was a damn sight more than I ever had to build on.’
She did not remind him: ‘You’re wrong there, my dear. Don’t forget you built on the two hundred odd guineas stolen money that I found.’ The few pounds he had got from the mill company for the loss of his father and the stigma he had endured for years would have hardly started him keeping chickens. But no, he liked to think he started from scratch. And after all perhaps he had, because he had always been of a determined nature. Even as a young lad, during the years they had fought like cat and dog, he seemed to have one purpose in mind and that was to show them, which meant, getting on.
‘I wouldn’t have given him anything like that until after the morrow,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry, everything will go all right. Anyway’—his voice rose—‘we are talkin’ as if he was doing us a bloody favour. In getting her, he’s damned lucky. Now I’m telling you. If the fellows around here had had any sense at all, she would have been snapped up long afore this. I’m going to say this to you, Mary Ellen’—his voice dropped now—‘I’ve never said it afore, but it’s just this, and it’s a funny thing for me to say, but she’s worth more to me than all me own. Aye, I suppose it was because how she came into the world. I was the first to hold her. I was the first to feed her. I was the first to wipe her clean. So she’s always meant a lot to me, has Kate, and always will.’
‘Oh, Hal, Hal.’ Her arms were around him and they were pressed close together. ‘My dear, dear, Hal. I love you, as much now as the day when I first said it.’
‘Well’—his voice was gentle now—‘that’s all I want to hear, lass, ever in me life…Ever in me life.’
Two
She stood in the middle of the room dressed in a gown of white satin which brought out the curves in the figure as never before. Her long straight hair was wound in tight coils above the ears. She stood perfectly still while Maggie lifted up the short veil and placed it on her head, saying, ‘Nobody’ll have seen headgear like this afore in the church; it’s what the grand ladies wear. Bend your head so I can stick the pins in, you don’t want it to fly off. But listen to that wind, we could all fly off the day.’
Florrie, standing in front of Kate, said quietly, ‘Oh, you look bonny, Kate.’
‘Don’t.’ The word was sharp and held a touch of bitterness, and before Florrie could make any further comment, Maggie moved to her side and, pushing the half veil back on to the front of Kate’s head, said somewhat begrudgingly, ‘Well, you do, the day. And neither of us has got a figure like yours so just think on that. Here’s me like a yard of pipe water; when I look at me bust I envy the cows.’
At this Florrie nearly choked, and Kate, giving a shaky laugh, said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m…I’m all worked up, and nervous.’
‘Well, who wouldn’t be on their wedding day. If ever I get married I think they’ll have to carry me there on a door. And now you’ve set the ball rolling, it mightn’t be all that long before that happens.’
Maggie nodded towards Florrie and she, chuckling, said, ‘Which one of them will be the unlucky fellow? Or will you get them all to the church and take your pick?’
‘Aw, you.’ Maggie laughingly pushed her younger sister to the side, and as she did so the door opened and Mary Ellen entered the room. She was dressed in a wine-coloured corduroy suit with a small matching hat and over her arm she carried a white lace shawl.
‘Aren’t you two ready yet?’ She looked from one to the other of the girls, and Maggie, who definitely had inherited her mother’s ready tongue, replied, ‘We’ve only got our bonnets to put on. But we couldn’t afford two hours titivating ourselves like somebody we know.’ She glanced at Florrie, laughter in her eyes, and Florrie, going up to her mother said, ‘You look lovely, Mam, and that colour suits you. I knew it would when I saw it in the shop.’
‘Well, I’ve had me doubts, ’cos I don’t hold with shop
-bought things. Go on, get yourselves off, both of you.’
They were about to scurry away when Florrie turned and, going back to Kate, she kissed her warmly while muttering, ‘Be happy, Kate. Be happy.’
When the door had closed on them, Mary Ellen went to her daughter and there was a tremor in her voice as she asked, ‘Ready?’
‘Yes, Mam, as much as ever I’ll be.’
‘You’ll be all right, you’ll be all right.’ Simultaneously their arms went out and they held each other for a moment; then Mary Ellen, pressing herself away and aiming to be matter of fact, said, ‘I’m crushing your frock. And look at the shawl,’ moving now behind her daughter and shaking out the very fine white lace shawl that she had spent many months making. She placed it round Kate’s shoulders and as she did so she closed her eyes tightly and bit on her lower lip to stop the tears flowing. Then without once more looking at Kate she held out her hand, saying huskily, ‘Come, they’re all waitin’.’
Before descending the shallow oak stairs, Kate stood for a while gathering up the front of her gown; then she was walking down towards her family. There they all were: John and Tom, standing together as they nearly always did, two fine looking men, fair-haired and fresh complexioned and of their father’s build, of medium height and broad with it; at the foot of the stairs, Hugh, tall and thin, with hair and eyes so dark as to appear almost black, and looking older than his elder brothers; next to him, Gabriel, who looked like his mother and had her colouring of skin, which the girls were constantly pointing out to him was wasted on a fellow; then directly at the foot of the stairs stood Maggie and Florrie, both with their father’s colouring, Maggie as tall as her mother, but Florrie small made, her frame seeming to match her voice which was quiet and rarely raised. But standing behind them all was the man she thought of as her father. And it was to him she looked as she descended the stairs.
A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy) Page 36