A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy)

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘I…I don’t know, at least I can’t explain. It’s a kind of defiance. I don’t want to be pitied or hidden away.’

  ‘Nobody would have hidden you away, lass.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head and smiled wanly. ‘No, but I would have been kindly guarded by you, and Mother, and the rest. Then in time, like a sick staggering colt, I’d have been led into the open. Well, I didn’t see myself living like that. It’s a long time, Dad, since I faced what I am, too ugly for a woman…’

  ‘Shut up! Shut up this minute afore I let me hands loose an’ belt you. You’re the finest woman that I know bar one, and you came out of her. And I know this, I feel this, being a man, I know somewhere there’s one for you, one who’ll see the whole of you. I know it. I made a mistake with the other one, I must have been…’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ She smiled at him now, a warm endearing smile. ‘I only know one thing, I’ve been a very lucky person to have been brought up by you.’

  ‘Huh!’ He threw up his head. ‘That’s as may be. Ah, here’s the drink. Now get it down you and then we’ll eat, if and when that lot turn up.’

  She drank the hot rum and did not shudder at the first taste, as a lady would have done or even any of the farmers’ wives she had encountered that morning. But after draining the mug she gave a small laugh, saying, ‘Where’s the fight?’

  ‘That’s me girl.’ Hal rose and, pulling her to her feet, laughed too, saying, ‘Come on, let’s look for one.’

  They were still smiling when, further along the passage, they entered the dining room. There, they saw enacted a little scene. His wife and two daughters had apparently just preceded them into the room and were weaving their way towards the far end to a table that had a view of the garden when a man, one of two sitting at another table, rose and pushed his chair back without looking behind him, and in doing so almost overbalanced Florrie. At this the man turned quickly and caught her by the arm, and when Hal and Kate reached them he was saying, ‘My apologies. I’m sorry. It was so clumsy of me. Are you all right?’

  Florrie, smiling now, and in her quiet way said, ‘Just a few bones broken, that’s all,’ whereupon the young man let go of her arm and laughed, retorting as quickly, ‘Dear, dear, that will make me liable for compensation.’

  He turned his head and looked at his companion, who had also risen to his feet, and now, when this man spoke, everyone looked at him for his voice was different altogether from that heard in these parts, either of gentry, farmer, or miner. In a slow, drawling tone, he said, ‘And I’ll stand as your witness, ma…am. And you could claim a mighty fine sum.’

  The man spoke English all right, but it was a foreign English, American English.

  Hal cut in now saying, ‘What’s all this? Murder on the king’s highway?’

  Then looking at the young man who had caused the slight affray, he said, ‘Good day, Mr Bentley.’

  ‘Good day, Mr Roystan.’ Both men inclined their heads towards each other.

  ‘Trying to kill one of me family, are you?’

  ‘No, sir, never that. Just merely attempting to knock her down.’ There was laughter now and blushes from Florrie, and Hal put his hand on her shoulder saying, ‘Well, away with you, miss, out of harm’s way.’ And the party proceeded to make for the far table.

  Kate, coming up last, had to pass round the other man and skirt the chair he was holding by the back, and when he quickly whipped it under the table and stood aside for her to pass, they stood eye to eye for a moment, and she looked into his face which was thin and tanned. His eyes looked almost black, like his hair, and this was thick and straight and came down almost to the collar of his coat. He had a thin figure dressed in good quality cloth and he was taller than herself.

  The conversation as they settled at the table was purposely general until they saw the two men leave the room. And then Florrie enquired quietly, ‘You know him, Dad?’

  ‘Yes, I know him. He’s Mr Charles Bentley. He farms over the hills on the outskirts of Lord Redman’s estate. Well, he’s Redman’s nephew.’

  ‘Lord Redman’s nephew?’ It was Maggie, wide-eyed now, repeating the statement.

  ‘What have I just said? Aye, he’s Lord Redman’s nephew, but he’s no better off for that, ’cos he works for his living. They laugh at him.’ He nodded towards Mary Ellen now. ‘Aye they do, a lot of them around here, the would-be clever-Jacks. They think they’re God’s appointed where farming’s concerned but I think that fellow could teach them a thing or two. I’ve only seen his place once. ’Tis small, called Little Manor Farm, and it’s not much bigger than me first place.’ He looked at Mary Ellen. ‘A couple of cottages knocked into one.’ He nudged her, ‘Those were the days.’

  She smiled at him tenderly, saying, ‘Yes, those were the days. Frozen stiff in winter and the well dried up in summer.’

  They both laughed now. Then Maggie drew their attention by asking, ‘Do you know the other one, too?’

  ‘No, I don’t, miss, but by the sound of him I should imagine he’s just off a boat somewhere. From the Americas would be me guess.’

  ‘He’s handsome.’

  ‘Aye, he might be. Handsome is as handsome does. And get that starry look out of your eye. I’m havin’ no foreigners in the family.’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ At Maggie’s indignant tone they all laughed. And when he said, ‘Well, now, what about ordering?’ Mary Ellen put in, ‘Aren’t you going to wait for the lads?’

  ‘No, I’m not going to wait for the lads. They could have been here by now if they’d liked, it wouldn’t take all this time to unload. Anyway, I’d like to bet I know where one is. Master Tom will be hanging over Cissy Ludley’s stall.’

  ‘Poor Cissy.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Hal looked at Maggie. ‘Do you mean that you’re sorry for her ’cos our Tom’s got his eyes on her?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Dad; you know what I mean. Them having the farm and the brick concern too, and she having to serve on the stall.’

  He leant across the table towards Maggie now. ‘And what disgrace is there in serving on the stall? Your mother served on a stall for years.’ He nodded towards Mary Ellen.

  ‘Oh, well’—Maggie shook her head—‘that was different…well, you were struggling.’

  ‘And so are the Ludleys.’

  ‘Not to that extent, Dad. You know well what I mean. You said yourself, her father would sell his grandmother for a decent ewe.’

  ‘I might have, but after seeing his grandmother I knew he’d never be able to bring it off because she wouldn’t be worth a decent ewe.’

  The laughter this evoked brought heads turning from all the tables in the long room, and some smiled. But others were wont to remark that the Roystan family were the queerest for miles around. The daughter left standing at the altar just a few days ago. And wasn’t that her there with the rest of them, laughing her head off? You couldn’t somehow place the Roystans. Starting from the bottom, they didn’t fall into the category of fish, fowl, or good red meat. Oh, certainly not good red meat.

  Four

  Christmas came. The family, as always, ate well, and they made merry, but it was, in a way, a forced merriment, especially when there were callers. And on New Year’s Eve, as they all sat round the fire waiting for another year to come in, there wasn’t the usual going over of events of the past twelve months. This they had all agreed was to save Kate’s feelings. The only thing mentioned was the new road from Guidepost near Catton to Allendale that had recently been started, and which was to lead straight into the market place. And what advantages was it going to provide? Only to a few, Hugh had said, for coaches and the mail, perhaps, and those with their open carriages. He had, too, regaled them with the business his office had dealt with during the past year, such as that of the good people of Newcastle who were trying to get prison reform. So many tales did he tell of the hardships of prisoners and transportees that his father had laughingly asked whose side he was going to represent once
he had served his articles, only to become more serious for a moment and to enquire quietly what side of the law would he be on if a man was transported for seven years for stealing a poker from an inn.

  At this the girls had exclaimed, ‘Never! Never! Dad. Don’t be silly, that couldn’t happen.’ And he answered, ‘Oh, yes, it did, in South Shields, and many more cases like it.’ But he did add that they had to be grateful because things at this end of the country weren’t as bad as those in the south. Did they know that a little girl of twelve had been hanged in Newgate for stealing? Oh, yes! Yes! And it was on this sombre note the New Year was brought in, and with it came the atrocious weather.

  January, February, and March provided great falls of snow, frozen roads, thaws, and rain. So it was on one comparatively warm and sunny day in April that Kate saddled her horse and said she was going for a ride. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, the time when the womenfolk usually adjourned to the sewing room, there to work on their dresses or household linen, to hem with minute stitches pieces of lawn to make handkerchiefs, which, later, they would embroider with an initial in the corner.

  Mary Ellen looked at her daughter, thinking, That’s going to start again, for right up till Christmas, unless the weather was very bad, Kate had taken to riding out on her own, pointedly refusing company of any kind. So today, neither Florrie nor Maggie offered to ride with her.

  It was agreed amongst the rest of the family, but in private, that Kate was changed: no matter what face she showed to the outside world she was no longer the Kate they all knew. She could sit in the sewing room the whole afternoon and not utter one sentence, unless it was briefly to answer some question. And when the nights were long, after the evening meal was over and the dishes washed and the table set for the following morning’s breakfast, they would gather in the sitting room, and Maggie would play the spinet. But seldom now could they get Kate to sing. What spare time she had she would spend with a book in her hand. She and Gabriel were the great readers in the family, the rest were more for doing practical things. Hugh, of course, read quite a lot, but it was mostly to do with his legal work.

  Mary Ellen was disappointed that none of the girls had shown interest in the making of potions or sachets of herbs. She herself still continued to go to her cupboard, as they called the little room where she kept her jars and bottles, and mix up winter medicines for coughs and colds, and salves and purges for the cattle.

  But whatever pastimes the girls took up after their day’s work, they seemed to do it with a relish. And, until late, Kate had been the most enthusiastic of them: her embroidery was so fine that on two occasions it had taken first prize at the Hexham Fair.

  Ever anxious that her daughter should not isolate herself from them, Mary Ellen said, ‘Your father’s going into Allendale, why don’t you ride with him? You’ll never guess what he’s going to do?’

  ‘No? What is he about to take on?’ Kate asked flatly.

  ‘Oh.’ Mary Ellen forced a jocular note into her voice. ‘He’s going to honour them by at last changing his bank. As I’ve said to him for ages, the bank is well established now and you couldn’t get more honest men than Mr Arnison and the Reverend Walton from Allenheads, and the town auditors. But no, you know what he’s been like, saying that, as they couldn’t see to the removal of the town dirt, they couldn’t see to his money. But now things are changing.’ Her jocular manner faded as she ended seriously, ‘This’ll make some of them in different quarters sit up and take notice when they see what he’s got to put into their care. By! It will. Anyway, he’ll be glad of your company.’

  ‘Mam.’ Kate’s voice was quiet. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I know what you’re trying to do. But believe me, I’m all right. It’s all over. It’s as if it had never happened. And I’m glad. You won’t believe me when I say again I’m glad it turned out as it did; but then…well, one changes. You know what I mean.’

  Yes, in a way, Mary Ellen did know what her daughter meant, for she herself had been forced to change. She sighed and said, ‘All right, dear. Go on, and enjoy your ride. Only be careful. I wish you wouldn’t take Ranger, though; he’s hard to handle.’

  ‘I can manage him. We understand each other.’ Kate made to go out, then turned and there was a mischievous glint in her eye that hadn’t been there for some long time as she said, ‘You know what I’m going to do, Mam?’

  ‘No, Kate, no.’ Mary Ellen only too gladly capped her daughter’s mood.

  ‘I’m going to get some knickerbockers made.’

  Mary Ellen’s chin dropped, her mouth fell into a gape then snapped closed before she said, ‘No! No! Kate, you wouldn’t?’

  ‘I would, and I am. Remember when I was little, I used to ride astride, and barebacked at that. So why not?’

  ‘It…it…Mary Ellen stopped: she had been about to say, ‘It could get your name up.’ And it certainly would, a woman the size of Kate, in fact, any woman, straddling a horse like a man! She said quietly, ‘Don’t do it, Kate. Anyway’—she gave a shaky laugh—‘you’re not serious?’

  ‘I am, Mam. And why not? It’s a simple thing after all. Don’t worry.’ She put her hand out and patted Mary Ellen’s arm. ‘When I wear them I’ll not ride into Hexham or Allendale, I’ll keep to the hills.’ And with this she went out.

  The sky was high. There was only a slight breeze, just enough to cool the sweat on both her and the horse when, half an hour later, she drew the animal to a halt.

  She leant forward now and patted the animal’s neck, saying, ‘That was good, wasn’t it, Ranger? All the cobwebs gone? That’s it, breathe deep.’ This was when the horse put his head up and neighed.

  For the next ten minutes or so, she walked the animal over land that dropped quite steeply into a wooded valley through the bottom of which ran a burn, spanned by a small stone bridge. And now, crossing it and approaching her, was a man on horseback, whom she recognised immediately as Mr Bentley. Since their meeting last November in the hotel dining room, he had visited the farm three times, supposedly to discuss cattle with her father. But on two occasions he had stayed to have a hot drink and had partaken of it in the kitchen, the last time only a month ago, when Florrie, in large bibbed white apron, had been making pastry at the kitchen table, and he had pointedly talked to her, which, afterwards, had caused the boys to chip her and her to retaliate by saying, ‘Don’t be silly. He is Lord Redman’s nephew.’ Whereupon her father had got on his hind legs and said, ‘And what was Lord Redman, anyway, two generations ago?’ And then they had listened to the early beginnings of the man who now owned a very large estate on the borders of Northumberland.

  ‘Good day, Miss Roystan.’

  ‘Good day, Mr Bentley.’

  ‘Isn’t it a beautiful day?’

  ‘Indeed, yes, and it hasn’t come too soon. It’s been an awful winter.’ She dismounted from her horse now, saying, ‘He loves to drink here.’

  ‘Yes, they do, don’t they? But I’ve just come down from my friend’s cottage’—he pointed over his shoulder towards the far hills—‘and her ladyship here’—he patted the horse’s neck—‘had her fill up there. At least as much as I would allow her, because if she had her own way, she’d take on so much I wouldn’t even get a trot out of her. Strangely,’ he now added, ‘I was going to call on your father today. I want a little more advice. Picking his brains again. By the way, how is your family?’

  ‘Oh, very well, very well, thank you.’

  ‘That is good to hear. No-one suffered from the cold?’

  ‘No, not really. A few sniffs and sneezes.’ She smiled at him and he laughed, repeating, ‘A few sniffs and sneezes.’

  ‘Are you going on, or is this your limit?’

  ‘I had intended to go on.’

  ‘Are you making for the peak?’ He turned his head and looked back towards the hill in the distance.

  ‘Perhaps, yes.’

  ‘It’s lovely up there today, a grand sight, although I don’t know how my friend has st
ood the winter, his first in England. You…you may remember, he was with me on that memorable day in the hotel in Hexham.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ She nodded at him. ‘The…the…’ She could not say foreigner. ‘American, isn’t he? American?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, an American, and a very interesting one too. He rented the shepherd’s cottage from me in the autumn last year, supposedly for two months. Of all things, he was writing the history of the villages, and the customs hereabouts. Apparently, his far forebears came from these parts, although he doesn’t seem to know much about them, as far as I can gather. He’s a great listener, but not all that much of a talker, which is something of a diversity from his fellow-countrymen, and I’ve met one or two of them. I have tried to get him to come down and meet your family, knowing that he would find you all most interesting, and no doubt you would find him that way too. But to no avail, he seems disinclined to make close contacts, although he walks the villages to gather all the data he can for his book or whatever he intends to write. At present, he’s engrossed with Langley: the mill, the mine and its surrounding land.’ He shook his head for a moment, saying, ‘He’s a most interesting man. And besides writing, he’s a very clever hand with a pencil. He’s done some wonderful little sketches of the Abbey in Hexham and the old houses in Allendale. But, strangely, he never seems to complete anything. Part of a roof and a door, or a branch of a tree, and all on the bottom of the page on which he is writing. I think he’s very skilful, though he firmly denies being either an artist or a writer. Well’—he jerked his horse’s reins—‘I’ll get him down to be viewed by your family one day, I hope, because I cannot help but think he’s rather lonely up there, and I can’t manage to ride over as often as I’d wish.’

  There was nothing she could say to this unusual discourse, she could only nod her head. As he raised his hat with a ‘Goodbye, Miss Roystan, enjoy your ride,’ he put his horse into a gallop to take the first part of the hill.