‘Oh, Dad.’ She closed her eyes and lowered her head while she smiled and said softly, ‘Perhaps you’re right. But…but in this case your…well, your instincts don’t apply. And I can say this, I think he’s got as much idea of marrying me as he would have of marrying one of the Indian natives called squaws he has spoken about in his own country.’
Hal now slid off the end of the table and, taking his doubled fist, he rubbed it from one side to the other of his jaw, and when it came to rest under his lower lip, he held it there for a moment, saying, ‘Do one thing for me, will you, lass?’
‘If I can, Dad.’
‘Invite him down to a meal: by what I hear he’s not above eating in inns, and we can provide as good a table as an inn, can’t we now?’
She turned her head away and thought for a moment. She couldn’t say she’d already asked him and he’d refused because that would certainly raise a barrage of questions: aren’t we good enough? And so on. So she said, ‘All right. Yes, all right.’
Hal now put his arm round her shoulder and drew her to her feet, saying gently, ‘You know how I feel about you, Kate, don’t you?’ And she answered as gently, ‘Yes, I know, Dad, and I feel the same way about you.’
‘Well, I’m going to say something to you now, which I suppose I shouldn’t. I fathered t’other two females and if they’re happy, or not so happy, it doesn’t seem to bother me. God forgive me, I shouldn’t say that. But what happens to you, Kate, does. Now, now, now. I didn’t say that to make you cry. Come on, come on, wipe your eyes. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed clumsily at her face, the while saying, ‘You go in there bubbling and she’ll think I’ve been gettin’ at you, an’ then she’ll get at me, and I’ve had a very tirin’ day and a more tirin’ night ahead of me if that silly little bitch doesn’t calve. Come on. Come on.’
She blinked her eyes and, smiling at him now, she said, ‘To the byres with you, Mr Roystan.’ And as if they were sharing a joke, he pulled at his thinning forelock, saying, ‘Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma am. Indeed ma’am, that’s where I should be. And I’ll be away now, ma’am. Right now, ma’am, as I know me place.’ And on this he pushed her playfully before turning from her and going from the room.
She bit tightly down on her lip to stop the tears starting once more, blew her nose and sniffed, then stood with her eyes closed in an endeavour to compose herself before making her way to the kitchen, there to do her part in the evening chores of washing up and setting the table for the morrow’s breakfast, but mostly to prepare herself against the spate of questioning looks that would be directed against her
Six
The following week, she knew they were all waiting for her to ride out, so she didn’t. On the morning of the day she could have done so, she offered to join her mother and Florrie on the long journey to Hexham in order to help choose a cloak for Florrie to wear at the coming ball. Whatever each member of the family thought of this, no-one said anything.
It wasn’t until the following Monday when the mail van stopped at the farm gate and the driver handed a letter to Hal, and he, bringing it into the house exclaimed, ‘I have a letter here, and would you believe it, by the postmark it was posted in Newcastle on Thursday afternoon, and here’s almost five days gone. That’s the newfangled penny post for you. A few years ago that would have been in Hexham the next morning and you could have gone to the office and picked it up. But now, will they hand over your own property to you at the office? No, it’s got to be delivered to the house stated on the envelope…’Tis for you, Kate.’
She had been about to go out of the far door and into the hall, and she turned and said, ‘For me?’ then advanced towards him, took the letter from him, looked at the envelope and said, ‘Thanks.’
‘See what I mean about the date?’
She again looked at the envelope and said, ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ But she didn’t attempt to open the letter, but again said, ‘Thanks,’ and turned away.
She had been on her way to the dining room to do some polishing, as it was Monday and her turn to help indoors this particular day while Annie, Maggie and Florrie were at the washing, and her mother was doing the cooking.
She had no sooner closed the dining-room door behind her than she once again looked at the envelope. She wasn’t in the habit of getting letters, and this certainly wasn’t from Harry Baker, because he had been no hand at writing. Whoever had written the address had studied penmanship. She held the envelope tightly between her two hands before opening it. Then she unfolded a single sheet of paper and looked at the one line written there. It said, very simply,
I have missed you.
Ben.
She put her hand to her throat; her mind was again in a turmoil trying to understand how a man would act in the name of friendship.
‘I have missed you. Ben.’ Of course, that could be said from one friend to another, but…but did you write it?
What should she do? Her father had said the letter had been posted on Thursday. Were she to ask her mother if she could spare her this afternoon, and galloped over the hills to him, what would he think?
Well, what had he thought when she hadn’t put in an appearance last week, after never missing one week during the past months? No, she couldn’t go today…she wouldn’t go today; one didn’t pick up one’s skirts and fly to a friend as they would to a lover. She would go tomorrow.
She did not vouchsafe them the information they were all waiting to hear and by the time it came to their evening meal there was a further feeling of constraint in the house.
Later that night, when in bed and lying in Hal’s arms, Mary Ellen said, ‘I’m worried about her. And that letter could have been from nobody but him. Why has she turned so secretive? She was never like this.’
‘Likely because we’re a nosy lot. And it’s partly my fault, because in my anxiety for her future I grabbed at the first fellow who showed any interest in her, and she’s frightened it’ll happen again. You know what Annie said to me the day? She said, “You lot press her the way you’re doin’ and she’ll walk out one of these days, just like I did to get rid of me da.”’
‘Oh! Fancy comparing you or any one of us with her da, that man!’
‘Well, she’s right in a way. We’ve got to let up, and treat her for what she is, a fully grown sensible woman, not a daft lass who doesn’t know her own mind.’
‘She couldn’t have known her own mind when she promised to marry Harry Baker, a fellow like that.’
‘Oh, she knew her own mind all right. What she wanted was a family of her own, I’ve told you that afore, and she would have taken a clothes-prop with trousers on at the time to get it.’
‘Oh, you!’ she pushed him. ‘A clothes-prop with trousers on.’ He pulled her tighter and kissed her and for the time being they both forgot about the daughter she had had before she had married him, but whom, she knew yet couldn’t understand, he loved better than those from his own loins.
The sun wasn’t shining when she rode out the next afternoon. The sky was low and everyone on the farm and roundabout was saying, ‘It’s a sign of rain, and thank God.’
She did not know what she was going to say to him about her non-appearance last week. She was bad at lying. She could of course say that she hadn’t been well, but that, she considered, would be tempting providence, because when other people were affected by sniffles and colds, and sore throats and aches and pains, she herself never experienced them. She was very healthy. Yet, she suffered pain, a strange pain underneath her breastbone. It had been there since she first saw her reflection in the mirror, and it had grown in intensity with the years.
About half a mile from the fork in the track which would lead to the cottage, she was approaching the bridleway which she knew led down to and crossed the river when he suddenly emerged from it. She saw him pull his horse in for a moment, then set it into a gallop. And when he drew it to a skidding stop abreast of her, he said. ‘Hello there.’
‘Hello.’
‘It looks as if it’s going to rain,’ he said, putting his head back on his shoulders and looking up into the sky.
‘Yes, it does, and it will be welcome.’
He turned his horse and came alongside of her, saying, ‘You got my letter?’
‘Yes, yes, I got it.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Not until yesterday?’
‘No. As my father says, the post delivery is much worse now than when one had to collect one’s mail.’
‘Why didn’t you come last week?’
‘I—’ she blinked, ‘I was busy.’
‘Is that the truth?’
‘No.’
‘What is?’
She let out one long breath before saying, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t explain.’
‘I can. Charles told me he thought he had dropped a bombshell when he spoke of us as mutual friends.’
They now rode slowly on, but at the turning into the bridle path he put out his hand and caught at her reins and said, ‘You remember last time we met I told you my departure depended quite a bit on yourself, and that in two or three weeks I should be able to tell you why? Well, since your family now know of our acquaintance the decision could be made earlier. Will you ride with me along here?’
‘Where to?’
‘A building, a house I would like you to see.’
She nodded, the while questioning: Which house, which building lay along here that could be of interest to her? There were a number of reasonable farms, but he had said a building, a house. And a strange uneasy feeling entered into her, and it grew as they rode on and he became singularly quiet. And so she wasn’t all that surprised when, a mile and a half further on, having crossed the river, they were riding by the broken walls of Rooklands Farm.
She knew all about Rooklands Farm. It had been like the ogre fairy tale during her childhood, as it had been too, for all the others.
When they stopped at the entrance where once had been a gate, he said, ‘The house is empty.’ And she answered, ‘Yes, I know. It has had a number of tenants, but they don’t stay long. Have you been inside?’
‘Yes. Come.’
She hesitated and he said again, ‘Come.’
‘I’d rather not.’
‘Please.’ There was an appeal in his eyes.
Slowly she followed him through an archway into the yard. The once well-scrubbed stone slabs were grass-covered, the doors of the horse boxes were hanging loose, an upper window was open and an old curtain was trailing out of it.
He helped her to dismount, then tied the horses to a rusting iron post that supported a dry horse trough. Thrusting out his hand now, he caught hers, saying, ‘Come this way; there’s a window open in the kitchen quarters. We can get over the sill.’
‘But…but…’
‘Please, do this for me.’
Oh, dear God! She knew what he had brought her here for. He wanted her opinion of the place with a view to buying it. If that was the case, it would be goodbye friendship, for her father over the years would not even do business with anyone who had taken on Bannaman’s farm. The very name of the place had the power to incense him or make him distraught. The years had not obliterated what both his father and himself had suffered at their hands.
But she was being drawn towards the side of the house, and now he was helping her over the sill and into what must have been a large store room. Still holding her hand, he led her along a passage where the paper was peeling from the walls. Then he opened a thick oak door and they were in a hall twice the size of the one at home, and off it, a broad shallow oak staircase rose to a half gallery.
‘This must have been a sort of drawing room.’
She was now standing in the room which she knew, from what she had heard, was where Mr Bannaman had faced the constables, and her father, and her stepfather.
Strange thought that, that she had a father who might still be alive. She had ceased many years ago to ask questions about him, because she knew it would not only hurt her mother, it would also hurt the man she thought of as her father.
‘Look at that ceiling, isn’t it beautiful?’
Yes, the ceiling was beautiful. The centrepiece was beautifully painted like a star with spines of light stretching from it towards each corner of the room, and inset were painted panels.
‘This couldn’t always have been a farm, could it? It must have been part of a grand house at one time.’
‘Yes,’ she nodded, ‘it was a sort of manor house.’
‘And look at the dining room.’ He was beckoning to her now, and she followed him back into the hall and through another door, and now he was pointing to the floorboards, saying, ‘They must be all of twelve or fourteen inches wide. There were some old Colonial houses back home with floors like this. And aren’t the windows nice? Long and wide. That must have been a beautiful garden out there at one time.’
She now silently followed him into a library, then in and out of several other small rooms, and upstairs through the bedrooms. He never allowed her to miss even a cupboard. Lastly, he ended his tour by opening the kitchen door and saying, ‘Isn’t it a shame that a house like this has been let go to rack and ruin?’
‘It isn’t a good house.’ She turned and faced him. And he, looking at her, said quietly, ‘No, the house isn’t bad, it’s the people who were in it some time back.’
‘Well, that’s what I mean. A family lived here who were evil. You see…I know all about this house. The man who once owned it was a murderer. What you don’t know is that the man I call my father, Hal Roystan, is not my father. My father’s name was Greenbank, and Mr Roystan is my stepfather. My mother was not married when I was born.’
‘I know of that.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You do?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you might also know that the man who owned this house by the name of Bannaman killed my grandfather, that is my real father’s father, and attempted to do the same with him. But that’s not all. He also murdered my stepfather’s father, who was a clerk at the smelting mills. He was returning with the workmen’s pay and he was struck down, then buried by this man and his servant. And that still is not all. He had a daughter who was even more wicked than him, for one day at gunpoint, she and her brother forced my stepfather up into the barn.’ She pointed through the smeared kitchen window towards the outbuildings. ‘They tied him up in such a way that is really indescribable: his ankles to his hands at the back; they gagged him, then strung him to a beam so that he couldn’t move. After that, they packed straw round him. The only thing they didn’t do was set it alight. But this evil woman wanted him to die slowly, and he almost did. He was left like that for four days and was only saved by his dog. I think she must have been the most evil woman in this world.’
She watched his face quiver, his eyes darken to a blackness that was like jet, but there was no hardness in their expression, only a look of pain and a great sadness, and the pain now came over in his voice as he said, ‘She was the most evil woman in the world. Yes, yes, she was.’
She stared at him. Slowly her mouth fell agape. There was truth dawning on her too great to grasp, but when he thrust it into her hold she felt she was going to faint.
‘I know that for sure,’ he said now, ‘for she was my mother.’
When she fell back from him he pleaded, ‘Please. Please. Don’t turn from me, not like that. Please. Hear my side. Let me tell you why I am here. Come, sit down, you are faint.’ He looked round the kitchen, then pointed to the settle that was attached to the side of the great rusting fireplace, and hurrying to it, he took out his handkerchief and laid it on the seat, then waited for her to move towards him. But she still stood where he had left her. And now, going to her, he pleaded, ‘Kate. Please, Kate. Come and listen to me. There is so much to be said between us.’
She resisted his outstretched hand but went towards the seat and sat down. With her head bent she waited.
/> From her lowered gaze she watched him pacing up and down in front of her; and then he stopped and said, ‘I will start at the beginning.’
But it was some seconds before he did begin: ‘When my mother and her brother and my grandmother sailed from this country in eighteen hundred and twenty-two, they were bound for my grandmother’s cousin in America. The journey had apparently been arranged some time before, and by the boat sailing when it did my mother and uncle escaped being brought to trial for the attempted murder of your stepfather. It should happen on the boat a gentleman befriended them, his name Roger Fraser Hamilton, and he fell in love with my mother. Such was his passionate attachment to her, I understand, they were married shortly after the boat landed. Within the allotted time I was the result of their union. The passion, I should imagine, was all on my father’s side, for my mother had no love in her to give to anyone. She was being consumed by hate. I say she had no love to give to anyone. I think she had given it all to the man from whom she had inherited her evil traits, her father. Yet he had been known to horsewhip her for her slack, I could say immoral, adventures.
A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy) Page 43