A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy)

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Oh, Willy.’

  ‘’Tis all right. ’Tis all right. Don’t upset yourself.’

  ‘I can’t go on like this, Willy.’

  ‘There’s no other way, is there?’ It was a statement, also a question.

  She bit tight on her lip, lowered her head, and now he pleaded, ‘Don’t cry. For God’s sake, Maggie, don’t cry; ’twill be me undoing. Here, wipe your face on that.’ He held out the scarf that had been hanging over his wrist, and she protested, ‘No, no, not your scarf. I’m all right. Your new scarf indeed!’ Her voice was reverting to normal, and to this he replied gallantly, ‘It would be of more value to me having touched your face.’

  She stared at him and again the tears came to her eyes, and abruptly she swung round and hurried down the barn and out of the door, and straight into John.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked, holding her by the arms, and she gulped in her throat as she said, ‘’Tis nothing, nothing.’ He looked towards the barn door, and when he saw a spray of hay leaving a fork to land on the feed cart, he said softly, ‘Willy?’ He looked at the paper and the box clutched in her hand held against the neck of her hood, and he said, ‘Aw, Maggie, Maggie. But ’tis no use for either of us. We’re both in the same boat, aren’t we? We’ve left it too late. Look, go into the tack room and dry your face. We’ll talk later.’

  He pushed her gently away; then he went into the barn where Willy was forking the hay, but he said nothing to him, he just picked up a fork and helped to fill the cart.

  Six

  Towards the end of January two letters came from France: one was addressed to Maggie, and one to John. Maggie immediately read hers, but when Mary Ellen handed John his, he thrust it into his pocket, then stood listening to Maggie as she now read her letter out aloud to them.

  ‘Ma chère Maggie,

  ‘The weather, it is bleak, but I am warm with business. I have had much business of late to attend. We have cleared my father’s studio, most pictures have gone to the agent. It has been turned into apartments for an attendant…it is housekeeper I mean, is it not? My English is worse on paper than when I speak. The housekeeper has a husband who works. It is very convenient. The housekeeper, she attends me. Mademoiselle Estelle pretends illness. She is afraid I take another sea voyage. I think of you all very much, and I dream at night of the cows. There is much business to be done with the lawyers, but I hope to be soon free. Many friends call. People are kind. But I would wish I was with you. I send my warm greetings to your mother and father, and the family. To yourself ma chère Maggie, I give my love.

  In sincerity.’

  Maggie’s voice trailed away, and she looked to where her father was sitting on the settle, then to where her mother was bending towards the fire holding a heavy iron pot in her hand in which was sizzling butter. She watched her whip it quickly up and onto a wooden stand on the table, then, pouring sugar into it, begin to stir the contents, and she said, ‘Well?’ and Mary Ellen turned her head towards her and said, ‘Well what?’

  ‘’Tis a nice letter.’

  ‘Yes, yes, ’tis a nice letter.’

  ‘What has she got to say to you, lad?’

  John now looked at his father. Then on a sigh, he pulled the letter from his pocket, opened it, read it, then said briefly. ‘She’s simply asking about the farm, and the weather.’ And with this he thrust the letter back into his pocket, picked up his cap from the corner of the table, pulled it well down over his ears, turned the collar of his coat up to meet it, then went out with his head bent against the piercing wind.

  Back in the kitchen, Maggie went into the pantry, picked up her basket of household dusters and brushes and, it being Wednesday, began her work on the bedrooms.

  She went into her own room first, but did not immediately get down on her hands and knees to brush the carpet; instead, she sat on the foot of her bed, her hand gripping the iron knob. She knew that John’s letter had not contained questions about the farm, and she understood how he felt. They had become very close over the past weeks, saying little, but understanding each other’s problem. There was a tension in the house that, as she put it to herself, you could cut with a knife. There was tension all round for that matter, and each member of the family was aware of it. Her mother had stated openly yesterday that nothing had been the same since that lass had come on the scene. And she had retorted to this, ‘Don’t you mean, since your girlhood sweetheart put in his last appearance?’ At this, they’d had high words. She knew she should keep her mouth shut, especially about her mother’s past, but whenever she saw the blame apportioned in the wrong direction, she had to speak out.

  Then Kate had arrived with her troubles. Apparently Fraser had come home the worse for drink from the market, and Ben had had one of his bad turns. She didn’t want to, but she was being forced to agree with her father that there was a bad streak in Fraser. He seemed to gravitate towards the lowest of company. And yet there were times when he appeared a normal, nice enough lad.

  Life was unfair when you came to think about it. There was that boy being given a chance of higher education. He still had time to make something of himself but was already starting on the wrong road. And there was a man like Willy who had been working since he could toddle and had appreciated the chance he had been given to read and write and to inform himself. And she knew it to be a truth, that he was better informed than anyone on this homestead or round about for many a mile. Yet there he was, working almost every hour that God sent, for the most part of his life in a smock, with the title of cowhand. ’Twasn’t fair, ’twasn’t.

  Twice of late she had almost burst into the sitting room where her mam and dad had been comfortably ensconced in the evening, and cried at them, ‘I’m going to marry Willy. Do you hear? I’m going to marry Willy.’

  On the first occasion she was stopped only by the thought that he hadn’t asked her to marry him, nor had he said that he loved her. It was only in gestures and looks and a few words of affection that she imagined he would want to marry her. There were men who didn’t want to marry, who could get along without it, but who liked a woman about them, and a little romance on the side, nothing that would tie them. Was he like that? No. No. She had denied it in her mind. The second time she had been stopped in following her urge by the telling fact that he had not even tried to kiss her on the quiet. And it could have been done. There had been plenty of opportunity when they had been alone together. And oh, she had longed for him to put his arms about her and kiss her.

  Lately, the nights were becoming unbearable. She walked the floor half the time. They had heard her from across the landing one night, and her mother had come over and she’d had to lie and say she had toothache; and her mother had gone downstairs and made her a mustard plaster, which she’d had to put on the supposedly offending tooth, only to spit it out when the door had closed on her, then dash to the ewer and gulp at the cold water.

  What was she going to do? She couldn’t go on much longer like this, she’d go mad. She should have married years ago. Yes, she knew that now. Yet there had never been the urge on her as there had been since she knew Willy. He had seemed to bring this thing alive within her, and oh, at times she wished he hadn’t…And strangely, her state of need had become worse since Yvonne had come into the house. Why was that?

  John made for the tack room, he would be warm in there and he would have a minute to himself to read her letter again. But when he opened the door, it was to see Terry sitting by the stove mending the harness.

  ‘You want me, Master John? I just thought I’d warm me knees while seeing to this.’

  As he made to get up, John said, ‘Sit where you are, Terry. How are your feet the day?’

  ‘Well, to tell the truth, Master John, I don’t feel I’ve got any on. They’re sort of numb. But ’tis funny, I can walk better on them when they’re numb than when they’re alive, so to speak. The ointment the missis gave me I’m sure is helping, I’m sure of that, the new stuff she made up for me. It b
urns like blazes, but I don’t mind that…Want something, Master John?’

  ‘No, no. I was just looking for a new bit. That one seems to be chafing old Noah.’ He walked to the far end of the room where the wall was covered with hanging braces and bits, bridles, and all accoutrements needed to dress a horse, and, selecting a bit, he went from the room, nodding towards Terry as he did so, saying, ‘Stay put. There’s enough mending to keep you occupied for the next few hours. There’s nothing spoiling so far.’

  ‘As you say, Master John, as you say. I’ll do that. I’ll do that.’

  John stood for a moment outside the door. What was it like to be in a subservient position like Terry back there, his body racked with pain most hours of the day, the result of years of toil spent working for them? He should be pensioned off, and with enough to keep him comfortable. By damn! He’d see the old man about it. There was Ozzie Taylor free for hiring. He was young and could be trained, and he was as strong as a bull. He’d tell his father the night and, storm or no storm, he’d have his way over this.

  With a defiant movement he pulled the letter from his pocket now, and again read the few lines of writing on it. It did not begin, ‘Mon cher Jean’, but started abruptly with.

  Jean,

  Why don’t you write to me? You said you write to me. I am very lonely for a word from you. Do you not wish to hear from me again? Life here is not good. I miss you.

  It was signed simply, Yvonne.

  Slowly he placed the sheet back in the envelope and returned it to his pocket. As he went to walk across the yard, his father came towards him. He had just come out of the kitchen and had undoubtedly viewed him reading his letter, for now he said in a high breezy tone, ‘Well, what does she say that we haven’t got to hear?’ But he wasn’t prepared for the answer he got.

  ‘She says there’s some very nice farms going in France that would suit me down to the ground, and she’ll buy me one. That satisfy you?’

  ‘What the hell’s up with you? My God! I ask a civil question…Now you look here!’

  ‘No, you look here, Dad, and we’ll forget about my letter and talk about this particular farm, eh? There’s Terry over there, not able to stand on his feet. Now as I see it, he’s ready for his pension. I know he’s not that old, but there’s not a day’s work left in him, and he’s given you his life since he was a lad. Ozzie Taylor’s mother’s wanting to place him. I promised her I’d see to it. There’s the other cottage that could be done up. It’ll want money spent on it, but I think you owe that to Terry.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be buggered. Here’s me, not dead yet, and a new boss taking over. Now let me tell you something, John.’ His father was digging him in the chest with his finger now, and when, with a swift movement, he pushed the hand away, Hal became silent and, his voice changing, he said, ‘Look, first tell me. What’s brought this on? All right, all right, I know me duties. I know what I intend to do with Terry. I have for some time now. I don’t need you to tell me. Another time you would have talked about this, not come laying the law down as if you were master of the place. And’—his voice was changing again—‘don’t you forget it, John, I’m still here. You’re not in control yet.’

  ‘It might be news to you, Dad, that I never want to be.’ And on this he turned and marched away, leaving Hal gazing after him, his mouth agape, his mittened hand flat on the top of his cap. And now he went slowly back towards the kitchen door again, muttering, ‘What the hell’s come over everybody? That’s what I’d like to know.’

  The mood in the household changed in the middle of the afternoon when Charles rode into the yard. Having led his horse into an empty loose box, he made swiftly for the kitchen door and, thrusting it open and seeing Maggie setting a tea tray, he said, ‘Hello there, Maggie. Where’s Mam?’

  ‘She’s in the sitting room with Dad, coddling him again. He’s had one of his coughing bouts.’

  He reached out a hand towards her, saying. ‘Come on. Come on in. I’ve got news.’

  As they went down the kitchen, the back door opened and John called. ‘Hello there, Charles, anything the matter?’

  ‘Yes, yes, lots, John. Come in a minute. We’re going into the sitting room. I’ve got some news.’

  ‘Well, if your face is anything to go by, it must be good.’

  ‘’Tis that.’

  John pulled off his boots and in his stockinged feet hurried up the kitchen through the hall, and into the sitting room, to where his father was sitting before a roaring fire and his mother was standing looking towards Charles and saying, ‘You look as if you’ve lost a threepenny bit and found a sixpence, lad. What is it?’

  Charles placed the high hat he had been holding in his hand on a side table, unbuttoned the neck of his greatcoat, drew in a long breath, then let his gaze wander from one to the other before allowing it to rest on Mary Ellen, and he said slowly, ‘Florrie’s going to have a child.’

  They all stared at him, no-one saying a word. Charles and Florrie had been married fifteen years, and she hadn’t shown a sign of falling.

  Of a sudden there was a great hubbub. Hal was on his feet shaking Charles’ hand and between coughs speaking unintelligibly, while Mary Ellen was saying, ‘Oh! This is great news. Oh, ’tis the best I’ve heard for many a long year.’

  John was smiling and his hand was on Charles’ shoulder and he was saying, ‘I’m glad for you, man. I’m glad for you, and Florrie. Oh, she must be over the moon.’

  As yet Maggie said nothing, she just stood there. It was as if she had received a blow. Somehow the fact that Florrie, who was married, hadn’t any children had, in a way, been a sort of comfort, in fact it had brought them close over the years, closer than they had ever been in their young days. Florrie was of a quiet, placid nature, yet her nerves had suffered badly because she had not been able to give Charles a child. And now, there she was at this age, carrying a child, and she almost as old as herself, there was only a year between them.

  Hal had stopped coughing and his words were understandable as he croaked, ‘This calls for a celebration, a drink. What is it to be, lad, rum or whisky?’

  ‘Oh, rum, Hal, rum. Although I shouldn’t be taking any more. I made a big detour and called on Tom to tell him the news, then made another one to tell Kate. And I’ve toasted the event in both places. Still, I’ve room for another rum.’

  ‘Aye, well, you have your rum, lad. It’s me for the poker.’ He now bent and thrust the poker into the heart of a blazing fire. Then turning to Maggie, he said, ‘Draw up some beer, lass.’ And on this order she turned away, no-one seeming to notice that she hadn’t added her congratulations to the rest.

  In the kitchen, she took down from the delph rack a large pewter jug. Then going into the cold meat store, she opened the door at the far end and descended the six steep steps into the cellar. And there she turned the tap of the hogshead that stood on a wooden cradle, and when the froth came to the top of the jug, she turned back the wooden peg. Then placing the jug on a rude wooden bench, she looked up to where a grating in the corner of the room let in some fading daylight. And then she said two words aloud, the meaning known only to herself. ‘That’s it!’ she said; then repeated them, ‘That’s it!’

  Back in the sitting room that was full of chatter now, she filled the pewter mug from the jug and handed it to her father. He did not thank her, but immediately turned to the fire and, taking the red-hot poker, he thrust it into the middle of the mug, being careful not to let the hot iron touch the bottom. And when the sizzling stopped, he pushed the poker back into the fire. Then turning, he lifted the mug, saying, ‘Here’s to a healthy son, lad.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind, son or daughter, either will please me.’

  ‘Oh, you want a son; we want some breeders in the family. Tom has only got one. It would appear that my lot are poor breeders. Four men and only one son amongst them.’

  It was noticeable that he didn’t mention Kate’s two sons. But Charles’ three large rums in the last h
our seemingly having loosened his usual cautious and tactful tongue, he said, ‘Oh, there’s Kate’s two, and both bright sparks, one a little brighter than the other if all the tales are true. Tom laughed his head off about what happened at the weekend.’

  ‘What did happen at the weekend?’ Hal was smiling. But John’s face became straight and Mary Ellen’s full of concern. And Maggie, knowing what was coming, endeavoured to signal Charles from behind her father’s chair. But Charles was too happy to notice and so he went on. ‘’Twas in the market on Saturday. Young Frag had apparently made the acquaintance of the Reillys and the four Smith lads. You know the ones from Allendale that work in the lead mines beyond. They’re bits of hellraisers. No harm in them. But it was the day of the pays and they got the youngster blind and pushed him back on a barrow right into the yard.’

  ‘Couldn’t be Frag, Charles’—Mary Ellen’s voice was stiff—‘they were all here on Sunday.’

  ‘Oh, well, he’d had plenty of time to sober up by then I suppose. Well, I must be off. Florrie wanted to come, but she’s got a little cold on her and I wouldn’t let her move.’ He turned now and for the first time addressed Maggie, saying, ‘Can you understand how I feel, Maggie?’

  Her voice was quiet as she said, ‘Yes, Charles. I can, very well. Tell Florrie it’s wonderful. Tell her I’ll come over on Saturday.’

  ‘I will. I will, my dear. She’s always pleased to see you. It gets a bit lonely out there for her sometimes. But now she’ll never be lonely again. Oh!’ He drew in a deep breath and buttoned up his coat before turning and picking up his hat; then going to where Hal was sitting in the chair, quiet now, he took his hand and said, ‘I’m pleased for myself and her, but I’m also pleased for you and all the family.’