A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy)

by Catherine Cookson

  At the foot of the bed were now piled four cloth bags on top of three boxes. She had brought them from the attic last night, and she had packed the contents of her wedding chest and the clothes from her wardrobe into them.

  She washed herself in the ice-cold water from the ewer on the wash-hand stand, then dressed, and lastly did her hair. She did not hurry. All her actions were measured as if she was stretching each one out to hold in her memory. Breakfast, she knew, would be over now, and just as she was thinking, with a touch of sadness, that no-one had come to bid her to it there came a tap on the door, and when she called, ‘All right,’ Florrie entered, balancing a tray.

  ‘I brought you a little breakfast, Kate.’

  ‘Thanks, Florrie, but I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Well…well, have a drink then.’ Florrie’s voice was low and she did not look at Kate, but, placing the tray on a small table, she began to pour out the tea from a small china pot. Then, after a moment, she picked up the cup and, turning to Kate where she was sitting on the bottom of the bed, she held it out to her in a shaking hand, and when it wobbled Kate took it quickly from her, and, getting to her feet, she placed it back on the tray. And then they stood tightly enfolded. Florrie’s head resting on Kate’s shoulder, she cried as she muttered, ‘Oh, Kate. Kate. I can’t bear it. I’ll never be happy when you’re gone.’

  ‘You will, you will, dear. Charles will see to that…And…and I may not be so far away.’

  ‘America.’

  ‘No, no. Not for some time anyway.’

  ‘I like him, he’s nice. If only Dad…’

  ‘Yes, if only Dad, but it’s no use. Nothing will alter Dad in that way. I’ve always known it.’

  ‘Dad loves you, Kate.’

  ‘Yes, I…I know that, and I love him, but I love Ben more. There now, come on, dry your eyes.’ She pressed Florrie upwards and they stared at each other. Both their faces were wet, and when Florrie turned and looked at the packages on the floor she shook her head, saying, ‘You’re really going then?’

  Kate answered nothing to this but said, ‘It’s a bad morning,’ and Florrie answered, ‘Yes, it has been at it all night. It’s nearly knee-high in the yard. And there’s a wind, it’s drifting.’

  It was after a short pause that Florrie asked quietly, ‘Are you going straight along to that house?’

  And there was another pause before Kate, nodding, said, ‘Yes, Florrie, I’m going along to that house.’

  At this Florrie turned sadly away, saying, ‘Eat something,’ then the door closed quietly behind her.

  Kate didn’t eat anything, but she drank another cup of tea, then got into her outdoor things, right to her bonnet and scarf, and lastly she tucked up the band of her skirt three times, bringing the hem up to her calfs. This was in case her father didn’t let her have the loan of a horse, she would have to walk it. In any case, it would be heavy going for the horse, and she couldn’t ask for the trap to take her baggage for that would never get through the lanes in this. So she would leave it till later, with the exception of the bag which held her nightclothes. That would be all she would be able to manage.

  So thinking, she picked up the bag and went downstairs.

  She was trembling as she entered the kitchen but was relieved to see that there were only her mother and Annie present, and they both stared at her. Mary Ellen was the first to speak. ‘You can’t go, lass,’ she said, ‘not in this.’

  ‘I’ve got to, Mam. There’s no use waiting. As soon as it clears I’ll send for my things.’

  Mary Ellen came and stood before her, her voice quiet now as she said, ‘Lass, don’t you understand he’ll never let you go to him.’

  ‘He can’t stop me, Mam, unless he shoots me or him.’

  ‘Don’t say that lightly, lass, because I wouldn’t put that past him either, for you have no idea how that man feels about the Bannamans, and rightly I’d say, he’s got a cause. And all right, all right’—she held up her hand—‘I know it’s a pity that the sins of the fathers…and the mothers are visited on the children, but ’tis true, as is also, what’s bred in the bone comes out in the blood.’

  ‘You an’ all, Mam?’

  ‘I can’t help it, lass, because I’ve seen more than you.’

  When Kate sighed, Mary Ellen, with a break in her voice, said, ‘Don’t you know you’re breakin’ up this family, lass? What followed after Peg and Walter went will be nothing to what’ll happen after you go to that fellow.’ As she spoke, the kitchen door opened and there was a sound of banging of feet against the wall before John came into the room. Pulling off his cap, he dusted himself down, then wiped the snowflakes from his face before looking at Kate and saying quietly, ‘You’ll have to hold your hand a minute, Kate.’

  It was Mary Ellen who asked, ‘What d’you mean, she’s got to hold her hand?’

  ‘He’s gone. Dad’s gone out.’

  ‘What!’ They all three stared at him, and he said quietly, ‘Now there’s nothing more that can be done just yet.’ And looking at Kate directly, he added, ‘He gave me a message for you, Kate. He said to stay put until he came back.’

  ‘How did he go?’ Mary Ellen’s hands were gripped tightly together now, and he answered her, ‘On horseback of course, how else?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Did he take anything with him? A…a…?’

  ‘No, Mam, he didn’t take a gun.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Mam. I went and I saw to that. They’re all there.’

  Slowly now, Mary Ellen sat down on a chair near the table, and Annie tapped her twice on the shoulder before looking at John and saying, ‘You’d like a cup?’

  ‘Yes, please, Annie. Yes, please. It’s bitter out.’ Then he turned to Kate as she was pulling on her gloves and he said, ‘Now, now. He left that message precisely for you. You are to stay until…’

  ‘I’m not staying, John. If he’s gone along there, only God knows what will happen when they meet.’

  ‘Well, I should think that Ben could hold his own if it comes to blows.’

  ‘Ben would never raise his hand to him.’

  ‘Not perhaps with the first blow, but there’s few of us who can turn the other cheek. Now the only thing we can do is to sit tight and wait. He should be back within three hours even if the going’s hard. That’s giving him time to have his say as well.’

  ‘That’s if he can get through at all.’

  He looked towards Annie now, saying, ‘Aye, you’re right, Annie. I shouldn’t be surprised if he turns round and comes back. So as I said, have patience.’ He was looking directly at Kate again. ‘But one way or the other he’ll have his say, and after that it’ll be up to you, Kate. You know what you want to do.’

  ‘I know what I want to do now, John.’

  ‘Aye. Aye, you do, Kate.’ He turned from her and went slowly out. And they all three noticed that he hadn’t drunk his tea.

  In the yard, John hurried across to the cow byres and as he thrust the door open the tallow candles stuck on the wooden shelf splattered, and he banged the door closed and lay against it for a moment, looking towards his brother who had stopped brushing the swill into the central gutter.

  ‘Well?’ Tom said, and he answered, ‘I told her, but she’ll go, reason or none. But what I’m worried about at the moment is him. God knows what will happen when they meet up.’

  ‘Do you think you should go after him?’

  ‘I’d given it a thought, but I don’t know exactly where he’d be making for if…’

  ‘Well, there’s only one place and that’s the farm. That’s if he gets there. He’ll never attempt to go up into the hills. It would be useless.’

  ‘Aye, aye.’ John nodded. ‘But in the mood he’s in, he’ll see nothing as useless until he confronts him.’

  ‘Well, I can’t imagine Ben being up in that hut in this. His own sense would bring him down to the farm, especially now that he knows he can hide behind his name no longer. Eeh! Our Ma
ggie’s caused something hasn’t she?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It was bound to come out sooner or later, and I think Ben wanted it that way an’ all. He’s a decent fellow, Tom.’

  ‘Aye, I think along of you, he’s a decent enough fellow, but then we’re seeing him through a different pane of glass. We didn’t have to go through what Dad had to go through. And that kind of thing helps your memory to last out.’

  John sighed now and said, ‘Aye well, there’s nothing more we can do for the moment. So let’s get on with it. Somebody has to do it. But at this minute I wish I was miles away.’

  Hal had brought the horse to the outskirts of the farm with very little trouble, for the wind in many places had swept the track bare and there were only the usual potholes now filled with snow to contend with. Once he had to get off his horse and drag it through a drift; but over the years this had frequently happened.

  Having dismounted again, he stood at the farm gate looking towards the yard. It was a smooth white mat which, he thought, pointed out plainly that the man he was seeking hadn’t made a move outside the house as yet. He forced open the gate against the barrier of snow, led the horse in, then tied it with the reins to the central post of the gate, and as he did so the animal threw up its head in answer to a muffled neigh coming from the direction of the stables.

  After saying, ‘Steady there. Steady there,’ he patted the animal’s neck, then walked slowly towards the front of the house. And as he did so the memories of the past came flooding back to him, and it was as if it were only yesterday he was looking at Mary Bannaman hurrying back to the trap, then returning with the gun in her hand. And the bitterness deepened in him knowing that her son was in there, no doubt awaiting Kate’s coming. Well, he would wait a long time, because he would sooner see her dead than being touched by a Bannaman in any way. And no matter how firm she had been in saying she would go to him, in the long run he had faith in her common sense and loyalty and her particular affection for himself.

  There was an iron bell pull to the side of the door and after he had dragged it downwards he stood listening to the muffled rattle beyond. But when it brought no response in the form of the man he was seeking, he took his fist and banged it hard on the panel. When still there was no response, he turned from the door and made his way round the side of the house. And as he entered the courtyard the muscles of his stomach seemed to go into knots, for his eyes were drawn to the door of the barn, the place wherein, as he put it to himself, he had suffered a crucifixion.

  When he reached the back door he banged on this and when there was still no response, he put his hand to the latch in order to rattle it. But when surprisingly the door opened slowly under his grip, he stood back from it for a moment before, thrusting out his arm, he pushed it wide, then stepped inside.

  He was in the kitchen. His eyes immediately went to the fireplace where the grey ash told him that there had been no-one near that for some hours. Slowly he walked up the kitchen, his eyes darting from left to right as if expecting at any moment someone to spring out on him. And when he reached the far door he opened his mouth and yelled, ‘If you’re in here, show yourself.’ The thought entered his mind for a moment that the fellow was afraid to meet him. Yet he dismissed that.

  When he entered the hall he stood gazing about him. It was devoid of furniture, but he could see it had been freshly decorated. Even so, he remembered it as it once was, and also the situation of the room where he and others had confronted Bannaman himself. He did not go towards that door but stood at the foot of the stairs, yelling again, ‘Are you up there? Show yourself!’

  Having thrust open the door of the sitting room he then had to force himself to enter, and again his eyes went to the fireplace that showed the remains of a dead fire. But drawn up at right angles to it was a couch and on it, folded neatly, were three rugs. The room also held several pieces of furniture in the form of bureaux and bookcases and small tables. These were the pieces that were supposed to be stored here.

  Strangely he did not turn about and leave the room but backed down it, again as if expecting some form to spring on him. But once in the hall, he hurried through it and into the kitchen, and out into the yard. And there he stood blinking against the snowflakes that were coming down more thickly now.

  Where was he? Up in that hut skulking? Again his mind rejected the supposition. But there was one thing certain, he hadn’t gone into any of the towns or else his horse wouldn’t be over there neighing its head off.

  He went towards the stables now and opened the half-door from where the sound was coming, and when the animal thrust its head at him, he pushed it to the side, saying, ‘Let up. Let up.’ He could see that it had hay, but the water bucket was almost empty, suggesting it hadn’t been seen to since yesterday.

  He closed the door on the thrusting head, then walked towards where his own horse was tethered. He did not mount up but went to the gate and looked towards the hills. If the snow kept up at this rate nobody would get up there for a day or so and nobody would get down either. Should he wait? And if he did, would Kate stay put? He was laying no stock on what she had said last night about her going to him even should he himself be dead or alive. They had both said things in the heat of the moment, yet he had meant every word he himself had said. By God! Yes, he had. And thinking this, he made a decision.

  Swinging about, he untied the horse and led it back into the yard and to the stable next to the occupied one, and inside he tied it to a manger post in which there was some straw. And saying now, ‘Rest easy. I won’t be long,’ he went out and closed the door, ignoring the sound of the animal kicking at the stanchion.

  He knew where the shepherd’s hut was and he knew the way to it; in fact, he knew every inch of these hills, that was in his younger days and when they weren’t snow-covered.

  He hadn’t got very far when a bout of coughing brought him to a standstill and with his back to the driving snow. He told himself now he had to be careful. There was only one good thing: the further he went up the clearer the track would be in parts, for the wind was sweeping the snow from the hillside. But time and again the swirling of the snow like flour from the corn mill almost blinded him.

  When at last he could make out in the distance the smudge of the cottage, he stood for a moment, his back again to the wind, his hands clutching the top of his coat as if to stop his chest from heaving. He felt spent, but turning, he pushed on towards the cottage.

  He was still some distance from it when he stopped and, wiping the snow from his eyelashes and face, he screwed up his eyes and peered through the swirling white mass at the man he had come in search of and who, as yet, was unaware of him, for he was pulling on a short rope, at the end of which was a goat.

  It was when the goat decided to stop the tug of war and to come quietly that Ben almost fell on to his back in the snow, and as he twisted around he could just make out the outline of the huddled form standing some yards away. For a moment he imagined it was Kate; then when he straightened up and saw who it was, his grip on the rope slackened, and the goat taking advantage of this, scampered away towards the field, not knowing that the gate was closed and that it would have to make a long detour back to its shelter.

  Ben watched the animal disappearing before, turning and hunching forward, he again looked towards Hal and called, ‘Come in!’ then made towards the door of the cottage. And Hal’s voice came back to him, crying, ‘I’m as near to you as is safe, for you that is.’

  ‘Mr Roystan, please!’ Ben was shouting now. ‘I want you to listen to me.’ And Hal’s voice was as loud but checked by his gasping breath as he cried, ‘Listen to you? I know all I want to know about you, young man…And…and I’ve just come to tell you somethin’…and you’d better take heed…You keep away from my Kate, ’cos if you don’t, the next time we come face to face I…I won’t come empty-handed. I mean that. I’ve always said I would swing for one of the Bannamans if I ever came across them…and I’d be quite willing to�
�to do that rather than let you put a finger on her, more than you have done up to now…So, the best advice I can give you is to get back onto a boat an’…an’ get back to your homeland an’ forget you ever came here.’

  ‘Have you had your say?’

  Hal was slightly nonplussed by the seeming calmness of the reply, and he blustered more loudly than ever: ‘Yes, I’ve had me say, all that needs to be said, and from what little you know of me you’ll have guessed I’m a man of me word. An’…an’ I promise you, you won’t live to tell the tale if you come…come near her again.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She’ll do as she’s told.’

  ‘Not if I know Kate, she won’t. And you can’t chain her up as much as you would like to. Drive me too far, Mr Roystan, and I’ll take Kate out of this country under your very nose.’

  ‘By God!’ The words were ground out through Hal’s teeth, and Ben could just make out the older man’s hand roughly wiping the snow from his face before he cried again, ‘It’s a damn good job I made meself come empty-handed, ’cos it wouldn’t have been buckshot I would have filled you with, but…but a bullet at this minute. Now I’ve told you.’ The hand was stretched out towards him. ‘That’s me final word. Take heed of it.’ And at this he turned about and began to stagger back the way he had come. And he was on the point of exhaustion as he leant against part of a drystone wall in an effort to get his breath. And as he stood gasping, he knew this business wasn’t finished, not by a long chalk, for he was up against someone who was as determined as himself.

  When he straightened up he saw the dark blur of the goat jumping through the snow just ahead of him, and in a way it was clearing the path for him, so, stumbling on, he followed it: goats, he knew, were notoriously sure-footed and it could likely make out the track better than he could, for now the snow was falling and swirling so thickly that he could hardly see more than a few yards ahead.