A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy)

by Catherine Cookson

  Dear God! They had found out. Some way or other they had found out. And what now? Well, she would make a stand. It was either them or Ben, and it would always be Ben. Always. She couldn’t lose this precious thing that had seemingly been sent straight from heaven into her life.

  When she entered the room her father was standing and she was surprised to see that his face was not grim and that he wasn’t in a raging temper. She was puzzled, even by the sound of his voice as he said, ‘Hello, lass.’

  ‘Hello, Dad.’

  ‘Come and sit down.’

  She sat down, and when her mother sat near her and took hold of her hand, she looked at her and said, ‘What is it? Something happened?’

  ‘You could say that.’ Mary Ellen nodded. ‘Aye, you could say that. I’ll…I’ll let your dad explain.’

  Kate now watched Hal rub one lip over the other two or three times as though preparing to speak. But even before doing so he placed his hands on his knees and bent slightly forward and concentrated his gaze on the carpet; then abruptly he said, ‘I was a bit late in getting into the city, there was a hold-up with the coach at one of the toll gates. A carrier waggon had capsized right across the road. Truth was, one of the horses had given up. Anyway, it delayed us for a while. But you know’—he gave a forced smile now—‘I only need a bit of an excuse to lengthen me stay in Newcastle, ’cos I like a look round. Anyway, I went as usual to the Queen’s Head in Pilgrim Street, left me bag, and sauntered about. My meeting with the solicitor fellow was not till half past one. So I dandered a bit and ended up in the Eldon Coffee Rooms in Blackett Street.’ Again he gave a thin smile as he said, ‘You can’t only get coffee there now, you know, but a drop of the hard an’ all. And being Tuesday, I managed to get the Tyne Mercury an’ the Northumberland and Durham Gazette hot, as you could say, from the press, otherwise I’ve got to wait days for them, that’s if there’s any left.’ His tone now changed and, looking at Mary Ellen who had closed her eyes for a moment, he said, ‘All right, all right, I’m getting to it. Going the long way around I suppose, but I’ll come to it soon enough. You know I will.’

  Kate looked from one to the other. What was this? She was sure now it had nothing to do with her and Ben, for this tentative lead up to what he had to tell her would certainly not have been his reaction in that case.

  ‘Anyway, there I was sitting looking at it and I saw an advert. It was for a coming exhibition, opening on Friday to be exact. A man—Kate watched him gulp at this point, and he repeated, ‘A man from these parts was putting on a show of his pictures.’ He stopped and straightened himself and looked straight at her, and now she knew what was to come. His voice low, he said, ‘’Twas a big advert, praising this fellow’s work and saying that he had lived in France for more than half his life and he’d just had a successful exhibition in London, and he was now in the city, prepared to open his latest on Friday. Well’—he drew in a long breath—‘I didn’t stay long in the coffee house, but I walked along to the Assembly Rooms. That’s where the exhibition was to take place. There was quite a bit of activity outside and as I stood a man and woman came out of the door. I couldn’t recognise the woman and I barely recognised the man. But I couldn’t have changed as much as him, for he recognised me…’Twas your father, Kate, and his wife.’

  They were both looking at her. Her face, she knew, had gone scarlet again. It was no use telling herself that the news didn’t affect her. Since she had known she had another father she had often wondered what he was like. But the love showered on her by Hal had diluted the desire to meet him. She had only once spoken of him to her mother and that was during her teens, when she said, ‘I’m no good at drawing and that’s funny, because you said my father was an artist.’ And she had added, ‘Was he a good artist?’ And her mother had replied, ‘Yes, they said so.’ And then after a long moment she had put the question, ‘Has he ever seen me?’ And Mary Ellen said, ‘When you were a little baby.’

  And the subject had seemed closed when she had said, ‘Then he wouldn’t know me if he was to come upon me now, would he?’

  At this moment Kate was recalling those words: He wouldn’t know me if he was to come upon me now, would he? This man, who was an artist and who would, undoubtedly, like beauty, had been the begetter of something that was far from beautiful. Yet Ben had said…Ben. For these two things to have happened in the one day. It was too much.

  As she laid her head back against the chair Mary Ellen said anxiously, ‘’Tis all right, dear, ’tis all right. You needn’t see him if you don’t want to.’ She didn’t turn to her mother but looked at Hal, saying now, ‘Did he ask to see me?’

  ‘Yes…aye, he did. And being me, I told him he had left it a bit late. And being him, he made excuses, saying he had only been in England twice in the past twenty years.’

  ‘What was he like?’ Her voice was low.

  Hal moved uneasily in his chair. What could he say to her about this man, his one-time friend who had brought her into being, and whom he himself had followed for years, not only because he wanted his companionship but also he was something good to look upon? The successful artist he had seen outside the Assembly Rooms certainly wasn’t that man. The slightly outlandishly dressed painter was big and blowzy like a woman gone to seed, with a belly on him like a poisoned pup, so much so that as he looked at him he had for the first time in his life felt physically superior to him: there was no surplus fat on him; his stomach was as flat as it had been in his youth; there were streaks of grey in his hair, and his face was ruddied by the weather; he had no bags under his eyes, just two deep lines running from the corners of his nose down almost to his chin. He had often wondered what his reaction would be if confronted with Mary Ellen’s first love. And what her reaction would be too. Now he had no fear in that quarter. His fear was for this girl…this young woman sitting opposite, this being that he loved almost as much as he did her mother. There was no length he wouldn’t go to save her being hurt, because he was well aware that if she was to be surprised at the sight of her father, he would certainly be surprised when he saw his daughter.

  Kate now said quietly, ‘Do you want me to go to the exhibition?’ She looked from one to the other. And it was Hal who answered again, saying, ‘He asked me to bring you. But I said no, if he wanted to see you, he had to come here. I suppose it was a kind of conceit on my part, for I want to show him how you’ve been brought up, not in a cottage where he last saw you, but in a home fit for a young lady. An’ that’s what you are, Kate, a young lady. And never forget it.’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ Impulsively she got up now and, going to him, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. And he blinked his eyes a number of times and rubbed his hand roughly across his lips before he said, ‘That’s the worst thing about it: I’m not, am I, your dad.’

  ‘You will always be my dad and I want no other. I…I don’t want to see him.’

  ‘You’ll have to now, lass; I’ve invited him, and he’s comin’ the morrow. I suppose—’ He nodded towards Mary Ellen now, saying, ‘I should have asked that one there before I scattered me invitations, but I also wanted him to see her as mistress of a fine house and a thriving farm, and a mother of a grand family. I wanted him to see what he had missed.’ He turned now to Mary Ellen, putting out his hand and catching at hers, saying, ‘You understand, lass, don’t you?’

  Mary Ellen didn’t speak, she merely nodded her head. Oh, she understood, and she was with him every step of the way. She too wanted to show that big upstart what they had achieved, and by tomorrow this time she’d have every bit of silver out on the table; she’d have flowers in vases; she’d have fresh curtains in the sitting room. If she had to stay up all night, she’d have everything spruce for the morrow.

  Hal rose now and, as if picking up her thoughts, he said, ‘I’d better get out of these togs, because by this time the morrow anybody will be able to eat their meat off that yard outside. I’ll work those three beggars until the fat drops off them.’
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  Mary Ellen’s voice was quiet now as she said, ‘I think we’d better tell them what it’s all about first. What d’you say, Kate?’

  ‘Yes, Mam, yes.’

  Mary Ellen was surprised at the way her daughter had taken the news. It was if there was nothing untoward, no red-letter day in her life the day she was to meet her real father. She couldn’t know that there was nothing but relief in Kate’s whole being, for now she had time to think, time to plan, time to enjoy this love that had come into her life, before Ben’s identity should be revealed.

  Seven

  There had been no mention of Roddy’s wife accompanying him. It had been taken for granted that she would come. In speaking of her later that night in the bedroom, Hal had described her as a well-dressed snipe who should have been wearing the trousers, because he had gauged within minutes who ruled the roost in that set-up. To Mary Ellen’s enquiry, he had answered that she looked nearly as old as old Kate had done. He had admitted that this was an exaggeration but stated firmly that she looked old enough to be Roddy’s mother, and that for the short time he had been with them she had acted as if she was, using words of endearment that had made him uneasy, like one would use to a bairn: darling this, and my love that. When Mary Ellen had asked if he looked happy, Hal had paused a long while before answering, ‘I’ll leave you to make up your own mind about that when you see him…’

  And now the house and all of them were ready. Despite herself, Mary Ellen was experiencing a fluttering behind her breastbone.

  Hal had taken the trap to meet the train at Hexham. That was two hours or more ago, so he should be here any minute.

  It was a lovely day. They’d had a little rain in the night, nothing that would do much good, but it had laid the dust and freshened the air. The long windows in the sitting room were wide open, looking on to the newly cut stretch of grass, and the white lace curtains were fluttering gently in the breeze. In the dining room the table was laid for high tea and Annie, looking for a space to put down one last dish of small pies, remarked caustically, ‘Think the Queen was dropping in. If I’d had my way he would have got short shrift. By! He would that. You’re daft. You know that, Mary Ellen, you’re daft, laying on all this. If he’s as big a noise as you make out this won’t impress him. Likely been wined and dined like royalty afore now. To my mind he’s got a damn nerve to show his face.’ She lifted her head and stared at Mary Ellen who was standing looking out of the window, from where she could see the drive that led round to the front door. But then, her voice dropping, she ended, ‘How are you are feeling about it?’

  Mary Ellen turned to her and pulled a slight face before answering: ‘I’m looking forward to it in a way.’

  ‘Hal not troubled?’

  ‘About me? Huh!’ She gave a laugh. ‘No, Hal’s got me where he wants me, has had for years and he knows that.’

  ‘Aye, yes, you’ve had a good life together, you two. Rough passage afore, but you’ve made up for it.’

  ‘And you’ve helped, Annie.’ Mary Ellen’s voice was soft, and she went on, ‘I couldn’t have done without you in those early days. Although he was all in all to me, I needed someone, a mother, and you were better than most I’ve come across.’

  She watched Annie wag her head now, purse her lips, take up the end of her long white apron and blow her nose on it. Then almost on a bark, she turned on Mary Ellen, crying, ‘This is a time to tell me, isn’t it? You know how me nose goes whenever I bubble.’ Her eyes blinking and her face crumpled, she stared across at Mary Ellen. Then her voice low, she muttered, ‘I’ll have to put some flour on it,’ and turning, she hurried out of the room. And Mary Ellen, drooping her head, smiled to herself as she muttered, ‘Oh, Annie. Annie.’

  What she had said was true: she had been lucky to have Annie in those struggling years when she was starting on a new life. Now the old life was about to reappear, and she wasn’t afraid for herself, but she was for Kate. Yet she had been amazed at the way Kate had taken the news, showing no great excitement. It was as if she was to meet up with an everyday event: there was a calmness about her that was puzzling. But then she had been puzzled in other ways a great deal of late. But where was she now? She must go and fetch her. Or should she wait to have a talk with him first?

  She swung round as she heard the wheels of the trap on the drive. There was no time now to go and search for her. She hurried out of the room, across the hall to the open front door, and there she stood, watching Hal bring the trap to a standstill. Then he got down and was followed by another man. There was no woman with them.

  Her mouth fell into a slight gape as the man walked slowly towards her. Hal had prepared her, in a way, for what to expect, but in her mind’s eye she was still seeing the young virile-looking Roddy Greenbank. But this big hulk of a man was no Roddy Greenbank.

  There was nothing recognisable about him, not even his eyes. He was indeed like a man gone to seed.

  ‘Hello, Mary Ellen.’ The voice too was different. It had a foreign sound to it, as if English was his second language. ‘Good gracious, you’ve hardly altered.’ His look of appraisal covered her from head to foot, and the tone of his voice touched on surprise—and was it slight pique?—at how kindly the years had dealt with her.

  ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘Come in.’ And he followed her into the hall, but immediately stopped and gazed around him, and after a second or so he said, ‘My! My!’ as if he didn’t know what the exclamation meant.

  ‘Well, it’s em…a…a very nice hall. That’s what I mean.’

  He was about to go towards the open door Mary Ellen was now holding open, when two figures appeared at the top of the shallow stairs, and he stopped again and looked at them descending. And Hal, going towards them, said, ‘These are my daughters’—he pointed—‘Maggie and Florrie.’

  The two girls stood staring for a moment at this man who was Kate’s real father before giving the smallest of curtseys and saying, one after the other, ‘Good day, sir.’

  ‘Good day. My! Aren’t we pretty.’ He glanced at Hal while still addressing them, saying, ‘You certainly don’t take after this old codger.’

  His manner was hearty, friendly.

  Mary Ellen’s voice now came from the doorway: ‘Take the tea into the dining room, Maggie,’ she called, and on this the girls, still smiling, turned away and hurried towards the kitchen, their best dresses making a frou-frou sound.

  He was now in the middle of the sitting room, and once again looking around him, and when he said, ‘Very nice room, very nice,’ there was definitely a note of condescension now in his voice. And when he added, ‘It’s almost as big as my salon at home,’ Hal could hold his tongue no longer, and in his roughest voice he said, ‘Sit down, man, and drop your cloak off. Remember that we know each other of old. Whoever you’re out to impress, it isn’t us.’

  The man’s face was red now. His already full cheeks puffed out a little more and his voice held a trace of its original tone as he now came back, saying, ‘Well, there’s certainly one thing, the years haven’t altered you.’

  ‘I never intended them to, but I’ve listened to your bragging since we left Hexham and I’ve had enough of it. Now let’s be ourselves, shall we? You know what you’ve come for, well…’

  ‘Hal.’ Mary Ellen’s voice was quiet. ‘Stop that. Enough is enough.’ Now she turned to Roddy and said, ‘Sit yourself down. I’m sorry about this.’

  Roddy sat down, and his attitude now was recognisable to them both when, bending forward, he placed his elbows on his knees and joined his hands together and quietly he said, ‘I’m sorry too. As you so rightly said, it’s a cloak.’ He now raised his eyes and looked towards Mary Ellen, saying, ‘Life’s a funny thing. If we could think at twenty as we do at forty, how different things would be.’

  Hal had always told himself there was one thing he was sure of, and that was Mary Ellen’s feelings for him. The love she had once given to this fellow was dead as any corpse in the cemetery. But there
she was, looking at him tenderly, pity in her glance. ‘Be damned!’ he muttered to himself, then broke in, ‘Will I tell Kate?’

  Mary Ellen turned her gaze from Roddy, saying quietly now, ‘Fetch the lads in.’

  ‘The lads afore Kate? No.’ He stared at her hard before marching from the room, and she turned and looked at Roddy again, but did not speak for a moment. Presently, she said, ‘Kate doesn’t look like me…she has your height, but that is all.’

  He did not answer but continued to stare at her, and now she smiled at him, saying, ‘I’m glad to hear you are so successful, Roddy. It must be a great feeling to have achieved all that, I mean, having exhibitions of your work.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ His reply sounded dull, and there followed another silence before she asked very quietly, ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘Happy?’ He repeated the word; then on a louder note he said, ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I’m happy.’ And having made the declaration almost vehemently he became quiet while staring at her. And now he spoke in a tone that she had never heard even the Roddy Greenbank that she remembered use because in it there was a well of sadness. He muttered, ‘If I can speak the truth for once in my life, I can say now, Mary Ellen, I’ve never known a day’s real happiness from the time that I last saw you. You were washing, I remember, your arms all soapy suds, and you had turned all the stuff out of the cottage, and you brought the child down from the attic. That was the morning you told me you loved Hal and that you were going to marry him, and that what you’d had for me was a girlish fancy, like one of the pains of growing up. I think it was from that morning that I realised what I’d lost.’