Willy nodded, then turning to Yvonne and holding out his hand, he said, ‘Goodbye, miss. ’Tis been a pleasure knowin’ you.’
‘Goodbye, Willy. I likewise, it has been my pleasure. Pat Bessy for me, will you? Tell her to give plenty of milk.’
‘I’ll do that.’
He did not say goodbye to her companion because she had walked on ahead into the station, flexing the muscles of her arms as she went as if she had just been through some stiff exercise.
Five minutes later they were seated in the train on its way to Newcastle. No-one entered their compartment either in Hexham or Corbridge. and so they had ample opportunity for conversation. Yet again neither of them had much to say. Once or twice John spoke of the district through which they were passing, but Yvonne seemed to have little interest in it.
It was when, looking out of the window, he said, ‘We’re running in now,’ that her hand came along the seat and gripped his, and she hitched herself closer to him. But she did not look at him, she had her eyes fixed on Mademoiselle Estelle who seemed to be dozing in the corner of the compartment, as she muttered, ‘Jean. Oh Jean, I do not want to go.’
John was sitting, his back pressed right against the wooden back of the seat. Her small hand gripping his was acting as a poker thrust into a damped down fire, the flame that had been smouldering was now being given air and was forcing its way through his body while a loud condemning voice was crying, Stop it! Check it! ’Tis madness. Remember what you said yesterday. ’Twas a good thing she was going. Stick to that. Stick to that. Even so, he did not take his hand from hers until the companion showed signs of rousing, which he told himself had saved him from making a fool of himself.
But when, fifteen minutes later, she stood on the platform outside the carriage door of the London train, and the guard stood ready at the other end of the platform about to wave his green flag, she again caught hold of his hand and, looking up into his face, said, ‘Oh, Jean, mon cher, my dear, dear friend, I will miss you, so very much.’ And before he had time to answer, her hand had left his and she reached up both her arms and, standing on tiptoe, she kissed him, not on each cheek, but full on the mouth. Automatically his arms went about her and held her tightly to him. It would appear they were thrust apart only by the sound of the guard’s whistle, and then his body seemed to have actually caught fire, for he put his arms out once again and lifted her bodily up the steps and into the train, then held on to her hands.
It was the porter who pressed him aside and banged the door closed. And there was her face looking down at him, a shadow behind the glass, a shadow all eyes that was telling him something he must not believe. As the train began to move slowly away, he walked by the side of the carriage, his eyes not leaving her until the train gathered speed, and the last glimpse he had of her was obliterated by steam.
The platform was empty even of porters when he turned about and made his way into the main hall and through the throng of people and out into the street. There he stood looking about him as if in a daze. Then slowly he left the station and walked until he came to a bar. And there he ordered a double whisky, something he had never done in his life before, because beer was his drink, and not a lot of that. Taking his glass, he sat down on a narrow form running alongside the walls and drank half of the spirit in one gulp. Then holding the glass between his two hands and, bending his back, he rested his elbows on his knees and sat gazing down into the yellow liquid. He could see her face in it, and that look in her eyes.
My God! For this to happen at his age, and she but a girl. No—his whole body moved in protest—she wasn’t a girl. She was on nineteen and she could be what you called a woman of the world, no matter what she looked like. There was a fully grown woman in that delicate frame…But still she was only nineteen and he was forty. He could be her father. Perhaps that’s how she viewed him, as her father. What! With that look in her eye and that kiss. No. By God, no! But he must pull himself together. What would happen when she came back? How could he pull himself together if he saw her every day. But would she come back? It would be better not. Oh, yes, better not, because they would never stand for that, them back home. And the people around. He would be a laughing stock; he wouldn’t be able to live with it.
He drained his glass, took it to the counter, then walked out. But he didn’t go straight back to the station, he spent another three hours walking around the town, mostly along the river-front watching the teeming life on the water: the loading and unloading of big ships, the scuttling of little ones, the tugs, the scullers. But wherever he looked he could still see her face and feel the imprint of her mouth on his.
When eventually he arrived at Haydon Bridge it was dark, and Willy was outside the station with the trap. He knew that he would likely have met previous trains, but he made no apology. And all Willy said was, ‘She got off then?’ And to this he answered, ‘Aye, she got off.’
On the journey back Willy did not break the silence for he guessed what had happened to this man because it had happened to himself, and he saw as much hope for the one as there was for the other.
Five
On Christmas Eve a letter arrived from France. It was addressed to Maggie, and it was brief, saying mainly that the sea voyage had been very rough indeed and that Mademoiselle Estelle had become really ill. It went on to say that she was being made very busy with business, and ended that she thanked them all for their kindness to her, and she wished them a joyful Christmas.
Maggie read the letter out to them all in the kitchen. The men were having their eleven o’clock hot drink. No-one made any comment. And she had hardly returned the sheet of paper to the envelope when the sound of a cart rumbling into the yard made Hal turn to the window, and there he exclaimed, ‘’Tis the carter. You ordered anything?’ He looked over his shoulder towards Mary Ellen, and she said, ‘No. I’ve got all I want in this past week.’
The man called across the yard, ‘Hello there, Mr Roystan. Got something for you.’
Hall called back from the kitchen door, ‘Hello, Andy. Well, let’s have it.’
A moment later the man came into the kitchen and placed six packages on the table, all of different sizes.
‘Where did these come from?’ Mary Ellen asked as she stared at the neatly wrapped parcels.
‘Different shops. I had me orders.’ He grinned broadly from one to the other. ‘Gather them up on Christmas Eve, that’s what the letter said. And she paid me well, she did that. Well, happy Christmas to you all.’
‘You’d like a drink?’
The man looked at Hal and said, ‘Aye, I wouldn’t say no.’
A bottle was brought and a drink poured out and the man raised his glass to them all, wishing them health, and wealth, and good crops. Then he went out, leaving them all looking at the table and the parcels.
It was Maggie who made the first move towards them. She looked down at an oblong shaped parcel and said, ‘That’s addressed to you, Dad,’ and she handed it to him.
‘And this is for you, Mam,’ she said. This was a soft package.
The biggest package on the table was a square box almost eighteen inches high, and she stared down at it as she said, ‘’Tis for me, this one.’ Then picking up another softish package she exclaimed in some surprise, ‘Willy! Willy! She didn’t forget Willy, or Terry.’
‘How do you know they are from her?’
Maggie swung round on her mother, almost bawling now, ‘Who else would think of sending us presents like this, Mam, eh? Do you know anybody else?’
‘The lads could have.’ Her mother’s voice was as loud as hers now.
‘Yes, they could have, but they don’t. They never have done; they bring theirs, such as they are. Oh!’ Impatiently she turned again to the table, but as she did so, John had put out his hand and picked up the last and smallest package.
They all stood watching him undoing the wrapping to disclose a three-inch-long flat black box. He stared at it for some seconds before opening it, then g
azed down at the gold cravat pin shaped in the form of a whip, the top of the handle studded with four red stones. It was Maggie who, coming round to his side, said in a hushed voice now, ‘Eeh! She sent you that. We were looking at it in Monroe’s the last time we were in Hexham. It…it was in the middle of a window on a velvet pad. ’Tis beautiful.’ She looked up into John’s face, saying, ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ But he did not utter a word until she said, ‘’Twas costly, very costly.’ Then he closed the lid and, turning to her, he said quietly, ‘Well, see what you’ve got.’
She now quickly undid the wrapping to disclose a round box. Then, lifting the lid, she put in her hand and withdraw a broad pink satin ribbon, and as she hesitated to pull it upwards Hal exclaimed, ‘My! A band-box. Must be a hat.’
When she lifted out a red velvet bonnet she stood gazing at it in amazement for a moment before she exclaimed, ‘’Tis the one we saw in Snell’s. I admired it and she said it was bonny, and it would suit her.’
‘Aye, likely it would have, but it looks too young for you.’
Maggie’s expression changed in a flash, and she glared at her mother for a moment as she said, ‘I’m not in me grave, Mam. I keep telling you.’
‘Try it on.’ John’s voice came between them like a balm. But Maggie hesitated; she turned the bonnet around between her two hands while she gazed at it, and the muscles of her face moved, as if she were about to cry.
And now it was Hal who spoke, saying, ‘Well, go on then, woman. Put it where it belongs, on your head.’
Slowly she pushed the stray strands of her hair from about each ear with one hand, then she put the bonnet on, and again John’s voice was quiet as he said, ‘It suits you.’ And when her father put in gruffly, ‘You could have picked worse. ’Tis your colour,’ she turned a grateful look on him. It was so seldom he approved of anything she did that even such a remark sounded like a high commendation to her.
Now she confronted her mother with a firm, ‘Well?’
‘’Tis all right. ’Tis better on than off. But a bonnet like that needs things to match it.’
‘Well, I’ll have to see about getting them, won’t I, Mam? Anyway’—she turned to her father now—‘what have you got?’
He was already undoing the wrapping and when he disclosed a box of cigars, he laughed loudly, saying, ‘Why, cigars, I’ve never smoked one in me life. My! A dozen of them. Eeh now, would you believe that, to send me a box of cigars! Look.’ He held out the box towards Mary Ellen, and she said, ‘Aye, I can see what they are.’
And as if aiming to hide his pleasure at the gift, he now cried at her, ‘Well, open your parcel, woman!’ And when she did and disclosed a beautiful cashmere shawl which hung from her hands like a network of fine cobwebs, she blinked and said softly, ‘’Tis bonny.’
‘Aye, ’tis bonny,’ Hal repeated her words. And looking at John, he said, ‘’Tis amazing like, that one so young, a slip of a lass could be so thoughtful for each one of us, and Willy an’ all.’ He nodded to the last parcel on the table. ‘She seemed but a bairn…’
‘She was no bairn.’
‘What?’ Hal screwed up his face as he peered at his son. ‘What do you mean, she was no bairn?’
‘Just what I say, she was no bairn. She wasn’t sixteen as you were given to understand.’ He was now looking at his mother. ‘She’s nineteen, or will be in a few days’ time.’
Hal and Mary Ellen exchanged a glance, then looked at John again, and it was Mary Ellen who asked now, ‘What are you sayin’? She was no nineteen, that one. Anyway, why should she lie about her age?’
‘She didn’t lie. It was him. He thought you would more likely give a home to a young lass than to a young woman.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Well, that’s up to you, Mam.’
Mary Ellen turned to Maggie. ‘You knew about this?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Mam, and he’s right. But what difference does it make? She’s still the same.’
‘It makes this much difference, I’ve been deceived. She should have told me if she’d told you.’
‘What chance did you give her, Mam? You hardly opened your mouth to her.’
‘Be that as it may, but there’s one thing I do know, I’ll not have her under this roof again.’
‘You mightn’t have any choice.’ John was standing staring at her from across the table. His face had lost its colour, his mouth looked a grim line.
‘What am I expected to make from that remark?’ Mary Ellen’s voice was low. And to this he answered, ‘You can make out of it whatever you like, only think on it.’ And at this he turned from the startled faces and marched up the kitchen and through the door into the hall, which was an unheard-of thing to do, for he was still in his working boots.
There was a dead silence in the kitchen now and it wasn’t broken until Maggie, picking up the two parcels from the table, pulled on her hooded cape and went out, leaving Mary Ellen and Hal looking at each other.
‘What do you think he meant? He wouldn’t, would he?’ Mary Ellen said quietly but apprehensively. And Hal seemed to consider for a moment before he said quietly, ‘He could. It’s been known afore.’
‘But she could be his daughter.’
‘Aye, but she isn’t. And he doesn’t look his age. But’—he put his hand out and gripped her shoulder—‘don’t worry, he’s sensible, and he wouldn’t make himself a laughing stock. He’s made that way is John, he couldn’t stand being ribbed, never could. So don’t look so worried.’
‘Aren’t you worried?’
It was some seconds before he answered when, turning from her, he said, ‘No, no. I know John. This place is his life, and it’s his when I go, lock, stock and barrel. He knows that. No, I’m not worried.’
He buttoned up his coat, knotted a muffler round his neck, pulled on his cap and went out.
Alone now, Mary Ellen sat down in a chair by the side of the table and her fingers played a quick tattoo on the wood. My God! If that should happen, she wouldn’t be able to stand it, not that girl, because every time she had looked at her she had been reminded of Roddy, and was transported back down the years to the time when she lay with him on the quarry top. ’Twas an odd thought, but it was as if she had given birth to the girl instead of Kate.
Oh, dear me. Her head wagged on her shoulders, now, and she looked around the kitchen. There along the delph rack were all the cold meats ready for the family coming. On the far table were the cakes and pies she had been baking for the last three days. She had been looking forward to this Christmas holiday because the lads would be here later today, and they always cheered the place up, although she was disappointed they were only staying for a couple of days. Apparently Gabriel had to get back to the glass works.
And then there was the big dinner the morrow with Kate and Ben, and the three children, and Tom and May and their Harry. Florrie and Charles didn’t come to the Christmas dinner; they always went up to the manor for that, but they would be here for tea later on. She would have all her family round her, and they would eat and drink, and there would be laughter and news exchanged. And the children would have games, and Maggie would play the piano, and they would have a sing-song…Maggie. She was another one that was causing her worry of late because somehow she was changed, for there were days when she appeared like a young lass again, her manner was almost gay. And there was that time she had heard her singing to herself while cleaning the rooms upstairs.
But her bright patches weren’t as frequent as her sullen ones, when she didn’t open her mouth for hours on end. And there was this other thing. Lately, she had been scrambling through the housework and spending much more of her time outside. She had felt the urge to talk to her and say, Don’t make a fool of yourself, woman. Don’t let yourself down. Have a bit of dignity. And she knew what her reception would be if she voiced anything like that.
But the worry over Maggie was nothing compared to this new bolt from the blue. Well, all she could do was to
pray to God that that lass never set foot in this house again. And she would do that…Yes, she would pray as she had never prayed in her life before…
Maggie was in the barn. She was looking at Willy while he looked down on the white silk scarf lying across his hands, and he repeated, ‘’Tis a lovely thing.’ Then raising his eyes to her, he said, ‘And for her to think of me, remember me, and Terry with a pound of baccy. She had a lovely nature, and so young.’ He lifted his eyes to her, then added, ‘But as you say, not so young. And your bonnet, red velvet you say? I would like to see you in it.’
‘You shall. I’ll put it on the next time I help to milk the cows.’ She checked the laugh that erupted from her by placing her hand tightly over her mouth, but he didn’t check his, and amidst it, he exclaimed, ‘Why not! Why not! Only I don’t think Bella would like it, ’cos she’s only got a straw one. Remember the day I put the old straw hat on her in the field and they all gathered round as if admiring her, remember?’
She nodded at him. Her eyes were shining, her whole face seemed transformed. He stopped laughing and stood gazing at her. Then, lifting up the side of his smock, he thrust his hand into his breeches pocket; and now he was extending towards her a very small parcel.
The laughter slid from her face, leaving it soft, her eyes were wide as she looked down onto his rough hand, the parcel lying in his palm. Gently she picked it up. There was a single layer of paper around it and it wasn’t tied. She unfolded it, then opened the box and gazed at the brooch made in the design of twined ivy leaves. The setting wasn’t of gold, nor had it jewels like John’s cravat pin, yet it was no cheap gimcrack.
‘’Tisn’t much. Not as I would like.’
‘Oh, Willy, ’tis beautiful.’ Her voice broke, ‘I…I have nothing for you.’
‘You have everything for me, Maggie, everything, and you know it.’ His words came on a whisper.
A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy) Page 66