A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy)

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Oh, ginger beer, yes.’ She laughed now.

  ‘I was visiting a house yesterday and they kindly gave me these bottles.’

  He was visiting a house yesterday. Where did he get to the rest of the week when she didn’t see him? He had never expressed any desire to visit her people. In fact, he rarely referred to them. But whenever she spoke of them, he became attentive.

  The ginger beer came out sparkling, and she was grateful for it, saying, ‘Oh, this is good.’

  ‘It is something that most people make around here, I understand.’

  ‘Oh, yes, a lot of people make their own beers. The herb beer, though, is more popular with the menfolk, its bitterness tending to be more like ale, I suppose.’

  They were seated at each side of the little table now. There was no fire in the grate today, and, by the look of the ash, none had been for some time. And she noted this and said, ‘What are you doing for your meals? How are you managing without the fire?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind drinking cold milk, and I go into an inn most days and have something. They do very good meals in most of them. And I’m quite used now to English cooking; I particularly like the enormous puddings, especially the suet ones. I’m going into Newcastle tomorrow. Is there any book that you would like me to get for you?’

  She considered for a moment, then said, ‘No. I’m very satisfied with your choice, and very pleased that you loan them to me.’

  ‘Oh that.’ He made a face, then with a deprecating movement he added, ‘What is that, loaning a book?’ He leant towards her now, his eyes again tight on her face as he said, ‘I would like to buy you a book, two books, three books, as a present.’

  A sudden coolness came into her body. ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘No, no.’ He straightened up. ‘Well’—he looked towards the door—‘that’s a question that’s hanging in the air.’

  ‘Why, may I ask?’

  He still concentrated his gaze on the open door as he said, ‘You’d be surprised if I were to tell you. But tell you I will one day.’ He swivelled slowly round in the chair and gazed at her, saying now very quietly, ‘It could depend a great deal on you.’

  She knew that her face had turned scarlet. She wasn’t given to blushing, except when greatly disturbed, and now she was definitely greatly disturbed, because she thought that if she had been other than she was, his words could have meant but one thing. What did they mean? She had no idea. Her voice was small when she said, ‘How can your departure depend upon me?’

  ‘Give me a fortnight, perhaps three weeks, and then I’ll tell you.’

  Her elbows were resting on the table, her hands joined together, and when his hands suddenly dropped on them, the breath caught in her throat and her eyes misted as she listened to him saying, ‘I have never met anyone that I could talk to like you, Kate. Right from our first meeting, we were compatible. Don’t you think?’

  She made no answer, and the pressure of his hands tightened as he went on, ‘This kind of thing happens. I’ve read about it but never believed it, but now I do. Your friendship has come to mean something very important to me.’

  The heat slowly seeped from her body and a heaviness came into her breast. Friendship. Of course, yes. She had been mad to think it could have meant anything else. She must respond as he expected. So she forced herself to say, ‘I…I too value our friendship, more so than you can imagine, because of…of something that happened to me, the very week that I first saw you.’

  ‘What was that?’

  She looked down towards their joined hands and it was some seconds before she said, ‘I was left at the church.’

  ‘Left at the church?’

  It was as if he didn’t understand the meaning of her words, and she looked up at him and explained, ‘I was to be married. He…he didn’t come.’

  He held her gaze now as he said, ‘Oh, that. I knew about that. Charles told me. And I’m glad, because if he had come you wouldn’t be sitting here now.’

  Again her face was suffused with colour and her emotions were mixed, because she could see that his friendship towards her had sprung out of pity. Yet he said he was glad.

  ‘Whoever he was, he was a fool, and someone always profits by a fool’s doings, and it’s myself in this case.’

  She gazed at him. He was so good to look upon, not handsome as one thought of a pretty man, but there was an appeal about him that went beyond his features. The way he carried himself, his voice, his understanding of things which, she judged, came through his constant reading. He was so different from the men in her own family and from any of the others she had ever met. And she had his friendship. Well, wasn’t that something? More than she really should have expected, but not more than her heart cried out for, and for which she must take great pains to still its cry and the knowledge that when he eventually left she would know the devastation as never before. Yet, he had said his leaving depended on her. Why? But she must not probe. She must not act like some silly woman who would go on probing until he gave her the reason, for apparently he did not see her as a silly woman, perhaps not as a woman at all, just as a friend, a dear friend.

  Slowly she withdrew her hands from his and rose to her feet, saying, ‘I must be away.’ But as she went towards the door he checked her, saying, ‘Kate.’ And she turned to him to find him still standing by the side of the table.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You remember when I asked you your name some time ago?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘And later I told you mine. Do you remember it?’

  She smiled now, saying, ‘Yes…Mr Benedict Fraser Hamilton.’ He laughed gently now as he said, ‘Sounds nice when you say it like that. Well, I told you I was generally referred to as Ben. And you know something?’ He waited a moment before ending, ‘You have never called me Ben.’

  Oh, that silly flushing of her face. It was bad enough to look as she did, but when her skin was so suffused with colour she dreaded to think what her appearance might be to the onlooker. She forced herself to say somewhat coolly, ‘The occasion hasn’t arisen to make use of it. I suppose that’s the reason.’

  He came up to her now and once more she was being forced to look into his eyes as he said, ‘Well, I think the occasion is now. You could say, I hope, Ben, you have a nice day in Newcastle tomorrow.’

  She began to laugh gently. At times he was so boyish in his ways that he appeared to be no older than Gabriel, whereas, when discussing books, he appeared a very mature man.

  They were both laughing when she repeated his words, ‘I hope, Ben,’ and she emphasised his name, ‘you have a nice day in Newcastle tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s better. And it won’t hurt so much with use.’

  Now she laughed aloud, and he joined her, and they were still laughing when they reached the stone wall, and he called the horses to him.

  When she was mounted he again put his hand on hers, saying, ‘Do you only ride out once a week?’

  ‘No, I sometimes only ride out once a fortnight.’

  He slapped her hand, ‘That wasn’t what I meant, ‘ he said.

  And she answered quietly, ‘I…I have my duties in the house. And towards the end of the week everybody is very busy getting ready for the market. But I sometimes go out on a Sunday, that is if we don’t have visitors.’

  ‘Well, in future, I shall be in on a Sunday to receive visitors.’

  She made no reply, she did not even smile at him but jerked the reins and rode off…

  If this was his manner when dealing with friendship, what must it be like when dealing with love?

  As she entered the yard she saw Charles Bentley about to mount his horse. Standing near him were her mother and Maggie, Florrie and John. But when he saw her approaching, he hesitated and waited for her to dismount, then he greeted her airily with, ‘Have you been to visit our mutual friend? I…I was just telling your family about him. At least’—he pulled a face—‘the little I know. He’s a very re
ticent fellow. I suppose you, too, have found that out.’

  She couldn’t answer him, for she was answering the looks on the faces of her family. Charles Bentley did not appear to notice anything unusual in her manner, for he turned to Florrie, saying, ‘Until a week come Saturday then, Miss Roystan?’ Whereupon Florrie inclined her head towards him and smiled. And now he mounted his horse, turned it about, and with a wave of his hand, he left them. And there they all stood looking at her.

  ‘Well’—her chin went up—‘so now you know. No more mysteries.’

  They followed at her heels as she marched into the kitchen, and there Mary Ellen said, ‘Well, why did you make a mystery of it in the first place, girl? You could have said, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I could have said.’ She nodded her head from one to the other. ‘Then what would have been the reaction? Another man to bring into the net. Fetch him home. Let us have a look at him. See if anything can be done about it.’

  ‘Oh, Kate.’ John’s voice was soft. ‘It wouldn’t have been like that.’

  ‘It would, and you know it, John. What’s the good of beating about the bush?’

  ‘Is he starving that you’ve got to take him pies?’ Maggie’s voice was tart.

  ‘No, he is not starving, miss. And the next time I wish to make anyone a gift I’ll buy some pastries in the town on Saturday. Will that satisfy you?’

  ‘Now, now.’ Mary Ellen’s voice was soothing. ‘There is no need for this.’

  ‘Well, if there’s no need for this, why am I being made to look like a criminal?’

  ‘Oh, don’t exaggerate. And you’ve brought this on yourself anyway. To my mind it was sly.’

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Maggie.’ Kate glared at Maggie now. In different ways she loved each member of the family, but if she was honest with herself she knew that Maggie was at the bottom of the list, for there were selfish traits in her, and she was very vain about her looks. She recalled now that she had talked a lot about the American the day they had met in the hotel and wondered who he was. Well, now she knew. She swung round and went up the kitchen and closed the door none too gently behind her, and when she reached her room, she pulled off her hat and threw it onto the bed, then dropped into a chair. And leaning her head back, she covered her eyes with her hand.

  When presently there was a knock on the door she knew it to be her mother.

  Mary Ellen did not at first speak, but sat on the edge of the bed and, picking up Kate’s riding hat, she moved it round between her hands; then she said, ‘I’m sorry, lass, but it was unintentional. He came, Charles Bentley, to ask your dad if he could take Florrie to a ball in Hexham. It’s for some charity. And as your dad wasn’t in, and Tom away with him, I told him to ask John. Florrie was over the moon. He’s definitely got his eye on her, and it would be such a good match. Oh, a very good match. You know that yourself, Kate. And he’s a very nice fellow.’

  ‘Who’s saying he’s not, Mam? Get to the point.’

  Mary Ellen had never had occasion to chastise her daughter for being sharp-tongued; Kate had always been so amenable, even as a child. But of late, since the church business, Kate had altered, which was to be expected she supposed. So she kept her tone level as she said, ‘Well, the point is, lass, he sat chatting over a cup of tea in the sitting room, and he happened to say if he could persuade his American friend to come to the ball, it would be nice. He meant for him. Well, you know Maggie. She immediately started to ask questions about the man. And at that he said, ‘Oh, well, your sister could tell you more than I can, because from what I gather they are great friends.’ That’s what he said. Well, you can imagine, it was only natural, we were all surprised.’ And Mary Ellen remarked to herself, That was putting it mildly. Amazed would have been a better description for their reactions. And now she went on, ‘Well, he seemed to think we knew about it, so nobody said anything, and the conversation went on to something else. Well, and then you came into the yard. So, if you’re fair, you can’t blame us altogether, lass, for being surprised.’

  ‘No, I suppose not, Mam, but you can’t blame me either for acting as I did, knowing what reactions would be if I brought him home: What were his intentions? Was he going to marry me? Oh, I know, I know what it would have been. After his first visit he would have been scared to come back.’ She stopped herself from adding, ‘Unless it was to see Maggie,’ because Maggie would have undoubtedly used her wiles on him. Oh yes, she knew Maggie.

  ‘Don’t you think he might have thought it odd that you haven’t asked him to come home?’

  ‘No, I don’t. He’s not one for company.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mary Ellen got up quickly from the bed. ‘From what we learned from Mr Bentley he’s very much at home with company. Goes round all the villages chatting to this one and that, gathering information, and keeps some people amused in the inns with his tales of his country. So I wouldn’t say that he doesn’t get about. He’s not a man of mystery. Perhaps you never asked him.’

  ‘That’s right, Mam, perhaps I never asked him.’

  He’s not a man of mystery, caused a barrage of questions to attack her mind, all leading to one thought. What did she really know about him? He had never mentioned his family to her. The one time she had tried to open up that subject he had adroitly closed it. He was very skilful at that kind of thing, answering a question by asking another. And hadn’t he said that his staying or going would largely depend upon her? What facets of friendship were strong enough to hold a man or send him on his way? She didn’t know, nor had she the vaguest idea of what would shed light on the matter.

  Mary Ellen said now, ‘Your dad will have something to say about this, you know.’

  ‘Doubtless.’

  Mary Ellen drew in a sharp breath and hurried from the room. Doubtless, she had said, doubtless. And in that tone of voice. Oh, Kate had changed, and out of all recognition.

  At the evening meal Kate knew that her father had already been put in the picture. The conversation would have been strained had he not taken it upon himself to regale them with the impending doom of the crops should this dry weather continue: Flour was now at three shillings a stone and he could see it jumping by sixpence towards the end of the year; in fact, the miller had said it could reach four shillings. And potatoes, why, some were already charging one and a penny a stone. Beef and mutton were still sixpence a pound, but couldn’t stay at that. He looked at his sons and said, ‘It’ll pay us to stock barley because the price it will bring later on will be hair-raisin’. It’s sixteen shillings a boll now, but I’d like to bet by the turn of the year it’ll go up to eighteen or twenty. Yes, we’ll stock every grain of it.’ Then he had looked round the table with a grin on his face, adding, ‘And when things get really tight, you’ll all have to pull your belts in, two notches at least, because I’ll cut down on your oats then.’

  They all laughed or smiled with the exception of Maggie who had been sullen throughout the meal. Then just before they rose from the table he looked at Florrie, saying, ‘And what’s this I hear, consent being given to your gallivantin’, without my knowledge? Going to the balls now, is it? Oh, we’ll have to nip that in the bud.’

  Florrie smiled tenderly at him now, saying dutifully, ‘Yes, Dad, I think you’d better. But before you do it I’d like to have a suitable cloak to wear a week come Saturday.’

  Again there was laughter, the twins saying almost simultaneously as was usual, ‘Good for you, Florrie. That’s it, get something out of him. We can’t.’

  Hal now rose from the table, shaking his head and saying, ‘My God! Get something out of him. That’s what you get for bringin’ a family up. Well, you two, let me get somethin’ out of you. Come on with you! There’s a heifer we’ve got to get something out of the night, and if we’re not careful an’ she gets no better, she’ll never live to be a cow.’

  All now left the dining room except Kate and Florrie; it was their turn to clear the dishes. But Hal had not been gone more
than a few minutes before he returned and, without saying a word, he took Kate by the arm, led her down the room, through a door at the far end, along the corridor and into his office, and there, pushing her into a chair, he bent towards her, saying, ‘Now come on, open up to the old man.’

  She watched him perch himself on the edge of his desk before she said, ‘There’s nothing to open up about. You’ll have heard it all.’

  ‘What I’ve heard is you’ve been seein’ this American fellow on the quiet, and I’d like to know why, I mean, keepin’ your meetings quiet.’

  ‘I told Mam why, and she’s already likely told you. The answer is evident: I did it just to prevent what is happening. Questions. Questions. And then ideas: Was there anything in it? What were his intentions? And I ask you, you’ve seen him, what would a man as presentable as he is want with me other than as a friend, one who is interested in reading?’

  ‘Aye, what?’ He poked his face towards her. ‘He might want to marry you.’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’

  He thrust out his hand and none too gently pushed her back into the chair as she had made to rise, saying, ‘Keep your seat a minute. As I told you afore, you’ve got the wrong idea about yourself, and naturally you’re thinking as a woman all the time, you can’t think otherwise. I remember saying this to you a few months gone. A man doesn’t always go for someone who looks like Maggie, or then again Florrie. He’s attracted by something else, as I was to your mother: a bit of fire in the guts, a partner, a mate, someone who could rough it with him an’ doesn’t want to be dollied up all the time. We leave that for the gentry and so-called ladies with their fancy men on the side. No, what an honest man wants is something in a woman that can’t be put into words. But he recognises it when he sees it, in her manner, in her eyes, in her tongue. Oh aye, in her tongue. Like I did with your mother. It’s something, if you like, that isn’t in the flesh, yet is. Oh, I’m not a man with words. I stopped readin’ books years ago, the only readin’ I do now, as you know, is cattle pamphlets or the newspapers, an’ generally only the headin’s. But in here’—he thumped his chest—‘I’ve got a knowledge that no words can put a name to. I’ve sometimes thought about it and likened it to what cattle must feel. They go mostly by the smell. And you know, ’tis the same with human beings, we’ve each got our different smells. Don’t screw your face up like that.’ He smiled at her now. ‘What I’m sayin’ is true. I sometimes think that a man unknown to himself, is attracted to a woman by what she gives off in her sweat. Oh no’—he now pulled a long face—‘women don’t sweat, do they? They perspire.’