His shirt was thrown to the ground, where the dog began to shake it as if it were a rat, then the vest which had seen better days and was an embarrassment both to him and to the audience now gathering.
‘All right, all right,’ Dan groaned. ‘You can walk off backwards, and that will have to do.’
Arthur smiled and began dressing again – all except the shirt, which the dog and taken and which was never again found.
It was the eve of Christmas day when their fish to Ddole House took place. The large living room had been emptied of furniture apart from seats for Penelope and her mother. William and John stood behind them, leaning against the wall near the fireplace.
Those who could not get inside stood in the hall or up the curving staircase, and even outside in the dark garden, climbing on one another to share the view through the windows. To accommodate all the guests, they were to perform twice. Arthur reluctantly agreed to rise on the rope for the second and final performance only.
Those who had seen the first showing moved with difficulty to allow others to take their places, and Violet, who had stepped into the dining room with Edwin, found herself face to face with Barrass, who was standing at the door into the garden.
‘Miss Violet,’ he said, backing away.
‘Get out of here,’ Edwin snarled, his arm raised threateningly. ‘You have no right to be anywhere near here. Leave the village, you aren’t welcome.’
Barrass was cold and hungry, and the invitation which he had received via Arthur gave him courage.
‘Told to come, I was,’ he said firmly. ‘Told to come and see the Interludes and have a bite of supper.’
‘I’ll see to this!’ Edwin moved off, calling for William, and Violet was left staring into Barrass’s glowing eyes.
She held her mouth a little agape, drinking in the sight of him: large, strong, confident beyond belief for someone in his unenviable situation, his bedraggled clothes seemingly unimportant. A longing for him made a sob escape her parted lips. Edwin, suddenly remembering that he had left them alone, came back, pushed angrily against Barrass, who did not move, and went out again, dragging Violet in his wake.
Edwin came back shortly, this time without his wife, and said threateningly, ‘Go, you. If I ever find you near my wife I’ll kill you.’
Barrass was trembling, not because of the threats, but the sudden sight of Violet and the knowledge that she still wanted him, as he longed for her. Memories flooded back and he felt the urge to run, to go somewhere to sit alone and dream of her and their brief and wonderful moments together. There had been plenty of others, but Violet was very special, their time together unforgettable.
He went into an empty room and closed the door, unable to decide what to do. He wanted to go away but the thought of food held him, and the chance of another glimpse of Violet to help him through the lonely night. He looked up with hope as the door opened, but it was Penelope who came in.
‘Barrass,’ she whispered, ‘I am so sorry to put you through this embarrassment, but I think you must leave. My father and John tell me you should not have been invited.’
‘I was going anyway,’ he said.
‘Wait a moment,’ she said, ‘I cannot let you go without food. There is a fine supper laid in the barn with plenty for everyone. Please come with me now and I will see that you are fed.’
Barrass could not refuse either the thought of a few moments of her company or the supper.
They ran across the yard to the brightly lit barn. Apart from three specially hired servants known to neither of them, the place was empty. Already the long trestle tables were groaning under the weight of the supper. Candles had been lit and placed around the walls on metal sconces, each one decorated with twigs of holly and garlands of ivy. On the table between the dishes of meats, cheeses and bread and the dishes of preserves, more lights glowed, giving the place a magical air.
In two corners of the room were barrels of ale supplied by Pitcher. Rows of pewter mugs stood waiting to be filled, most brought by their owners for fear of losing a drink for lack of a pot. Many others had their mugs safe in their pockets for when the performance ended and supper was called.
The three servants were setting the last of the plates and arranging the benches for a few more important people to sit. Twenty at a time would be allowed into the feast, the rest would wait, anxiously watching the depleting piles of food, and the gradually emptying barrels. The settings done, the servants quietly left.
‘Give me your scarf,’ Penelope said and Barrass tried to unfasten it from his neck. Troubled with the knot in the wet material, he bent his knees for Penelope to undo it for him.
The touch of her fingers on his neck did strange things to him and he glanced at her to see two frightened eyes, luminous and large, staring into his own. He held both his breath and her gaze, his expression softening into that of love, moisture filling his brown eyes as she continued to stare at him. His hands covered hers and together they unfastened the knot. His hands lay lightly over hers and the scarf dropped onto the straw-covered floor.
‘I’ll fill it with food to last tomorrow as well,’ she whispered, her hand limp and submissive in his.
From the house came the sound of Dan singing a slow, sentimental song, the words only a blur, the music an accompaniment to the sensations shared by the ill-matched couple. She wore a dress of dark red taffeta and a shawl of creamy wool, he was in a crumpled jacket that had been soaked and dried repeatedly, and trousers that had once been the latest fashion but now bore evidence of his having slept in them for many nights. Penelope’s hair was smoothly held back and up from her slender neck, the lamps picking out the golden glints, his was a wild bush of deepest black, framing his features and shadowing his intensely powerful eyes.
The words of the song were in fact pious, telling of a flower of eternal life planted in every heart, being fed by kindness to others or dying of neglect, but the distantly heard melody and the sweet voice made a love song for the two people in the barn.
* * *
Florrie was shouting orders, making the servants, including an exhausted Olwen, run to and fro and bump into each other in the large kitchen. She supervised as meats were piled on platters and carried to the table, where she would add the finishing touches before nodding satisfaction that they were fit to be served. Olwen tore loaves apart and piled them into deep baskets and all these were put ready for replenishing the tables in the barn. Florrie was finally satisfied that nothing had been forgotten.
Everyone was tired, but the need to get the work done forced them to forget their aching legs, and get on with the seemingly endless tasks. Between sorting out the enormous supplies of food for the barn, the red-faced cook was trying to look into the room where the performance was taking place, to see if Daniels and his children were there. She had never seen his five children and was curious to see how well he cared for them. Daniels was always neatly clothed and she wondered if his finery was at the expense of his children.
She settled the troupe of seventeen servants, who were falling over each other in their haste to please her, to wash and tidy away those pans, pots and tins she had finished with. All that remained was to carry in the hot dishes. Giving Olwen a large dish of hot pease-pudding and boiled, sliced ham with capers to take to the barn, she slipped once again into the passageway to look into the crowded audience for the face of the Keeper of the Peace.
She saw him between bobbing heads as the audience stood and sat, cheering and booing the characters in turn. He was standing against the far wall, his children dropping in size like steps to one side of him. The oldest and youngest were girls of about fifteen and six. Between them were three boys and all were dressed as neatly and expensively as she could imagine.
The girls wore identical dresses of a beautiful red plaid, full-skirted, and white lace-frilled aprons tied at each side with a full and lacy bow. Their coats were over their arms as they stood hardly able to move for the crush, yet uncomplaining and ob
edient. Framing delightfully pretty faces were poke bonnets over long, shining hair.
The boys were neatly dressed in red plaid trousers, white linen shirts and leather shoes shining with polish. Florrie’s heart sank – there must be a woman somewhere in Daniel’s life for his family to be so well turned out. She returned to the kitchen and shouted impatiently for Olwen.
* * *
Dan’s song had finished to wild applause and was swiftly followed by the high straining voice of Arthur in his role as righteous woman. The contrast, to Barrass and Penelope listening in the barn, caused them to smile. A smile which, fed by uneasy forbidden excitement, turned to giggling laughter. Barrass leaned forward to take Penelope’s weight against him, and for a moment she froze, then he felt her body relax and soften against his. Her head lifted and he stared once again into those serious, wide hazel eyes. His head bent towards her almost without his intention and their lips touched, trembled and blended into a kiss.
* * *
Olwen pushed against the door with her back as her arms were holding the warm dish and taking all her strength to keep it from slipping. She rolled around the door and stared in disbelief at the couple almost beside her.
‘Barrass!’ she said, and the couple sprang apart as if on a cart-spring.
‘Please put down your dish and go back to the kitchen,’ Penelope stuttered. ‘I am finding some food for Barrass before he leaves.’
Cheekily, Olwen said, ‘Food? Yes, I suppose kisses are food for such as him!’ She placed the dish on the table and, fishing out a slice of ham, threw it at Barrass – to see it land on his cheek, held there by the pease-pudding. With a glare of unrepentant defiance for Penelope, she ran from the barn and burst in through the kitchen.
‘Best we set out the rest of the hot food, or we’ll be crushed in the rush,’ she shouted at Florrie, and the cook was so surprised at her impertinence that she obeyed.
When Florrie went into the barn Penelope was placing bread and cheeses and some cold pork into Barrass’s scarf. Florrie curtsied politely to Penelope then, seeing the smear of pease-pudding across Barrass’s face, scolded him for starting before the rest. She did not understand why both of them laughed.
* * *
In the packed living room, the final Interlude was coming to an end. Emma, standing beside her daughters and Edwin Prince, was unable to decide whether or not she should, as a lady of some importance, be amused by the antics of those on the stage. She looked for a lead from others, and seeing the Ddoles obviously enjoying themselves, thought a cautious nod of approval might not be misunderstood. She did not feel at ease. Evenings like these were a real bother, some performances were acceptable to everyone – and others, and she was not sure which, were definitely not. She wished she had pretended one of her headaches and stayed away. Best to be absent than to be considered less than ladylike in the way she chose her entertainments. Musical evenings were best. She knew where she was with a musical evening.
Arthur was still adamant that he would not be hauled up by ropes over the beams by the blacksmith and Carter Phillips. Then Pitcher asked him.
‘I want you to pretend to hurt yourself,’ he whispered, a weather eye on his wife. ‘If Emma thinks you can’t work then she’ll support me in my efforts to get Barrass back. She knows I can’t manage the place on my own, and even with you it’s nigh impossible.’
Reluctantly, Arthur agreed. ‘For Barrass, mind,’ he muttered, ‘and I want a promise that you’ll pay me when I can’t work if the pretence goes on for more than a day.’
Under the dress the ropes were attached and partly hidden. Behind the scenery they stretched up to the thick rafters under the roof. It looked a long way up to Arthur as he prepared for the final scene.
In an effort to hide the surprise of Arthur rising to ‘heaven’ – in his long and well-padded dress, eyes raised to greet his maker – from those who had not seen a previous performance, the thick rope was coiled on the stage where actors and banks of greenery hid it from new. Unfortunately, Spider, who was assisting with announcements and by dragging holly and evergeens to and fro as scenes changed, tripped and knocked the rope under Arthur’s feet.
The result was that as he was raised to heaven in a chorus of aahs and oohs from an impressed audience, the rope around his feet altered his position to hanging upside down, with Spider being hauled up beside him. Spider’s long legs flailed wildly, knocking over the banks of greenery and disclosing the rest of the cast partially undressed as they changed costumes for the final applause.
Emma’s doubts returned and she shouted for the twins to close their eyes, but found herself unable to look away from the sight of the men in the attitude of prayer, as they knelt down and tried to hide their most private possessions. Spider managed to swing across and reach the beams and, with the blacksmith’s assistance, lowered Arthur to the stage where he fell into a heap. Spider swung himself down, completing a feat of acrobatic ability that raised a cheer and would be a talking point for many weeks. John and Edwin picked up the fallen greenery, and eventually order returned.
William hugged his wife, laughing helplessly, and could not make the speech of thanks he had planned. It was Penelope who stood amid the ruins of the stage and announced that supper was ready in the barn.
The valiant actors sat, hidden by the banks of restored greenery, and gathered their senses.
‘Do you think it was a success?’ Arthur asked in his high voice.
‘Put it this-a-way. Best we go and find ourselves some supper before they throw us out,’ Pitcher laughed. He offered a hand to Arthur. ‘I think Mrs Palmer would believe a disturbed and sprained ankle bone, don’t you?’
* * *
Ivor and Winifred Baker led their pale-faced daughter Blodwen in for supper. Scuttling in their wake, hoping to avoid too many comments, came Carrie Rees. She stood beside Blodwen, both girls wearing very full skirts to hide their increasing fullness. Blodwen, always a fat child, was already showing her pregnancy in spite of her efforts to hide it. Her face had extra roundness, an added fleshiness about the chin, and her sad eyes showed undisguised dismay at her condition.
‘I don’t know why she insisted on coming,’ Ivor grumbled to Winifred. ‘Makes me feel uncomfortable it does, escorting two girls whose condition is rising into prominence by the hour! People will think it’s me that’s the cause if Carrie hangs around us like this! Bad enough with my own daughter growing a child and the father unwilling to lay claim to it!’
‘I wanted to come and make the Ddoles ashamed for what they did for me,’ Carrie told him, having overheard his complaint.
‘What the Ddoles did?’ Ivor turned on her and several people stopped eating and talking to listen. ‘I thought you said it was Barrass?’ he hissed out of the side of his mouth.
‘The Ddoles threw me out, not caring that I had no man to keep me, and me not likely to find another place,’ Carrie pouted. ‘Mam hasn’t spoken to me since.’
‘You don’t think it’s Barrass and not the Ddoles to blame for your difficulties?’ Winifred exploded.
‘Never. He didn’t do it alone,’ Carrie said with a smile shared by Blodwen. Her smile widened a little when Winifred turned and slapped Blodwen, as the reminder brought fresh anger against her wayward daughter.
Bessie Rees pushed her way towards them, a linen bag tied around her waist, hidden inside her voluminous skirts. As she helped herself to food, she dropped pieces of meat, bread and cheese down to fill it. She ignored her daughter.
When one of the servants came and asked Bessie to go and see William Ddole, she unfastened the bag with a wail of dismay, shaking her hips to free herself of it. They’d seen her helping herself! And her only grabbing a bit of food to see them through the next few days! Stepping over the incriminating false pocket, she followed the boy through the festive crowd to William Ddole’s study. Quaking with fear, her head filled with half-prepared excuses, she went inside.
William had John Maddern with him.
The relief was so great that Bessie could only mumble her thanks, and make an unsuccessful attempt to promise her best endeavours at all times.
‘I will call on you when the festivities are over and we will discuss what I need from you,’ John said.
With more disjointed thanks and promises, Bessie backed out and hurried back to the barn.
She was delighted. If John Maddern paid her as generously as Henry Harris had, then she would manage well enough, even without her daughter making a contribution. She did not go to share her good news with Carrie, but went under the table to retrieve her false pocket.
* * *
Olwen searched for Barrass. She guessed that he would not go while the party continued, but would stay and watch, enjoying vicariously the social gathering, the merriment of friends. She found him in the porch outside the back door, staring in through the tiny window. He was hugging his scarf, swollen with gifts of food, nursing it like a baby in the crock of his arm.
‘Barrass,’ she whispered, ‘if you come round to the kitchen door, I’ll find you some ale.’
‘Olwen,’ he sighed, pulling her close to him. ‘Why am I always on the outside of everything? What have I done that no one will befriend me?’
‘I’ve just seen Blodwen and Carrie! And there’s Gaynor too! And that Violet Palmer is hereabouts! You can’t say no one will befriend you! And what did I see when I went into the barn? You and Miss Penelope kissing. Really Barrass, you are a problem to me, indeed you are!’
Summer’s Last Retreat Page 27