Well, were he to choose the latter course he might as well have not left the South at all; and so it was Hexham and the workhouse. Hexham he reckoned was far enough away from North Shields to preclude any fears of his being recognized.
He knew that the country they were passing through would have appeared beautiful had the weather been different. It was odd the effect the weather had on people, but they certainly seemed less inclined to be kind when it was wet. He’d had to knock on the back door of four houses in Piercebridge before he was given a can of boiling water to make some tea. Yet in the fourth house the woman had given him not only hot water but also a couple of meat sandwiches, half a loaf, and a dab of butter. And in the village of West Auckland they had been given a bowl of broth each and tuppence. He was glad of that tuppence and he had thanked the woman warmly, at the same time remembering how scornfully he had handed the penny back to the girl on the boat.
But now they were into the heart of the country, walking
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*-f-»-r”fl«#-r?v™rt’/B!i
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through great lonely stretches, hills with their summits Bst in the rain clouds, everything under foot sodden, and where the fields ran level they were entirely covered with water.
They had just passed Scales Cross and were making for Riding Mill. How far Hexham lay from there he wasn’t quite sure, eight, ten miles ; well, however long or short they wouldn’t make it today for within another couple of hours it would be dark and he’d have to find an outhouse or a byre of some kind in which to bed down, for the boy was on his last legs. After leaving Leeds the lad had perked up considerably, mostly from relief at being rid of the mad woman, he thought, but for days now he had spoken only occasionally, and his silences told Abel of his feelings more plainly •V» than if he had whined all the way.
The squelching of his feet inside his boots seemed to get louder with each step, and when he espied a piece of woodland lying to the right ahead of him he looked back at the boy who was some steps behind him and said, ”We’ll go in yonder and have a rest, eh?”
Dick did not say, as he had done confidently during the first days of the adventure, ”Yes, Dad,”
he merely made a small downward motion with his head, so slight that it couldn’t be called a nod.
As they neared the belt of trees Abel peered through the rain towards a dark object standing by the side of the road. Rubbing the water from his eyes he made it out to be, a motor-car, a black motor-car. That was why at first he hadn’t been able to distinguish what it was. When they came abreast of the car he turned his glance towards it and saw a man sitting in the driving seat. He was leaning back as if resting, and when he lifted his hand as if in salute, after a moment’s hesitation, Abel returned the salute with the same gesture.
They were past the car when the man’s voice stopped them and Abel turned round and looked to where the driver was hanging out of the window seemingly gasping for breath, and what he was saying again and again was, ”Help! Help! Help!”
When Abel reached him he bent down and said, ”Are you all right, sir?’
”111.” The man closed his eyes and gasped and again repeated, ”111.” And now his doubled fist was pressed against the front of his jacket., ,,.,,. ,%
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Abel looked up and down the roa3 helplessly, then said, ”Can . . . can I help you? What is it?”
”Drive ? You drive ?”
”Not. . . not a motor-car, sir, not like this. Dtsven a tractor and a lorry, but... but a long time ago.”
”Please. Please drive.” ’’. •
”But, sir.” - •-
”Get... get me home, please.”
”Where do you live, sir?” •
”Fell . . . Fellburn.”
”Fellburn ?” He screwed up his face. Fellburn was miles away, near Gateshead. ”I ... I could go and find a farm and get you help, sir.”
The man shook his head.
Abel looked down at Dick in bewilderment. Then as if coming to a sudden decision he reached out, opened the back door of the car, then stooped and lifted the boy bodily in. Pulling off his own rucksack that was dripping with water, he flung it on to the floor, banged the door, then opened the driver’s door. Gently, he eased the man from his seat and helped, almost carried him round the bonnet and put him in the front passenger seat, then took his own seat behind the wheel.
The man was lying back, his eyes closed, his fist pressed again tight into his chest and he seemed to be fighting for every breath.
Abel bit on his lip. How in heavens did he start the thing ? Of course, the handle. There it was lying between the two seats. He jumped out of the car again, went to the bonnet, plugged in the starting handle, and swung it a number of times but with no positive result. He seemed to have no strength in his arms, yet two months ago he could have felled a sapling with a couple of blows.
Now as if he was attacking an enemy he gripped the handle again and, putting all his strength behind it, he forced it round, and when the car shuddered into action he, too, was gasping for breath.
The man looked at him as he entered the car again, and pointing to the gear box he said, ”Start her. Start her.”
There was a grinding sound and the car seemed to jump off the verge right into the middle of the road, and then was moving down it, dead centre.
It took them ten minutes to reach Riding Mill and as they entered the village Abel shouted to the man without taking his
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it™
eyes off the road, ”Wouldn’t it be better if I stopped, sir, andfou saw a doctor?” . I
”No, just. . . just drive on.” I
”But. . . but which way ? I don’t know the road.” ”Turn . . . turn right next corner and . . . and make for Newcastle. I’ll . . . I’ll tell you when . . . when to turn off. . . . Go through Whickham and skirt Gateshead.”
There was very little traffic on the road. He passed a few vehicles, or at least they passed him: a few buses, three vans, and not more than half a dozen motor-cars. It was as if the rain was keeping indoors all the vehicles too, and for this he was mighty thankful. Yet as he sat behind the wheel, his hands gripping it, his body tense, he could not help but think how fantastic it was : he had been making for the workhouse and now here he was driving in this car. A touch of wry humour came into his thinking. It would be odd, he thought, if, after depositing the owner at his home, they were, by way of thanks, driven to the workhouse, Gateshead workhouse now, in a motor-car.
Having by-passed Gateshead and Low Fell without incident, they were leaving the countryside and entering the outskirts of Fellburn when he spoke again. ”Is it right in the town . . . your house, sir?”
”No, quite near. Past . . . past next house, open yard.” Abel drove slowly past what looked from a sharp glance to the left of him like a big house standing in the middle of a large garden, then a narrow strip of paddock, and here was the yard as the man had said, an open yard. There was an iron framework all of ten feet high and fifteen feet wide and, swinging from the top bar, was a board on which was written: ”Cycles bought, sold, repaired, and for hire. Proprietor, Peter Maxwell.”
Not previously having had to stop he now fumbled at the gears and was able to bring the car to a halt only a yard from the house wall. As he lay back for a second and drew in a deep breath the back door of the house was opened and a young woman ran into the yard and, coming to the car, she looked in and exclaimed in some amazement, ”Oh, my goodness!”
”He ... he had a bad turn, miss. He ... he asked me to bring him home.”
”Very good. Very good of him. . . . Very good. ”The man now leaned forward in an attempt to get out of the car, and the young
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woman said, ”Help me with him, will you?”
Abel hurried from his seat and round to the other side, and there he said, ”Leave him to me; I’ll get him in.”
The man was small, thin, and his body was light. Abel could, if he had been
up to his usual strength, have carried him in. And he almost did. Pulling the man’s right arm round his neck and with his left forearm under the man’s left oxter, he half carried him.
”Bring him in here. Lay him on the couch.”
When the man was lying stretched out on the couch the young woman rushed out of the room, only to return within a minute, a glass of water in one hand and two pills on the palm of the other.
”Here, take these.” She half turned to Abel. ”Will you raise his head, please?”
As Abel raised the man’s head and shoulders she said, ”Here now, get these down you. I told you you should never have gone all that way. If they wanted to sell it so badly they should have taken it themselves.”
”Ssh! Ssh!” The man closed his eyes wearily; then opened them again almost immediately and, turning his head slowly, he looked at Abel, saying, ”You were very good, very . . . very good.
Kind . . . Samaritan, yes indeed.”
”Don’t talk; rest for a moment and then we’ll get you upstairs.” She again turned to Abel, saying,
”Will you stay and give me a hand?”
”Yes, yes, of course. But first may I bring my boy out of the car, he’s very wet ?”
”Oh!” She blinked and looked surprised, then said, ”Yes, yes, of course. Bring him inside.”
Abel went hastily out of the sitting-room, across a hallway, and into the kitchen, noticing as he did so the extreme neatness everywhere but mostly the warm, almost faint-making smell of food cooking. It came from the direction of a shining black-leaded oven at the far end of the room.
A few minutes later while pressing Dick down into a chair near the open fire, he realized the effect of the smell on the boy and he whispered, ”Sit there and get dry; you’ll likely get a drink of something in a minute. All right?”
The boy nodded at him with more emphasis now and gazed round the room as if he had suddenly been dropped into some heavenly place. •- ~
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• When Abel re-entered the sitting-room again the man was saying, ”Now don’t worry, don’t worry; there’s never a good But there’s a better. Haven’t I always told you God provides ? Didn’t He send me help in my hour of need ?”
The words, Oh my God ! almost escaped through Abel’s own lips. Not another of them surely!
He’d had enough of religious maniacs to last him a lifetime. Yet this man appeared normal . . . as yet; and what he said next seemed to substantiate the fact.
”I’m all right, Hilda. Just leave me quiet, then I’ll get upstairs. What . . . what you can do is ... is give this good man and his boy a hot drink. And . . . and let them dry their clothes.”
The young woman turned a sharp glance on Abel before looking at the man again and saying,
”I’ll see to that once you’re settled, not until.”
”Oh, Hilda! Hilda! Child! Well... well, let’s get it over with.”
Again Abel had his arms about the man and this time he actually did carry him up the stairs and on to a square landing.
”In here.” The young woman had preceded them into a bedroom and had swiftly turned down the quilt on a large mahoganyframed bed, and when Abel had laid the man on it she dismissed him rather peremptorily, saying, ”I can see to him now. Please wait downstairs.”
Abel made no reply but turned and went out of the room, closing the door behind him. On the landing, he took stock of the place, telling himself it was a fine house, one of the old sort. There were closed doors on three sides, the fourth side being railed with a mahogany balustrade except where the stairs led down into the hall.
As he stepped into the hall he had come to the conclusion that no longer were houses like this one built; here, there was a substantial feeling about the place. A warm and a homely one, too.
When he entered the kitchen Dick was still sitting where he had left him. The steam was rising from him as if he were being simmered and his face looked small, white, and weary, the eyes too big for him.
He went to the boy’s side and, dropping on to his hunkers, he held his hands out to the blaze of the fire, saying, ”Nice kitchen, eh?”
”Yes, Dad.”
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He turned and looked at the boy and there came a restriction in his chest and a tightness to his throat, and a break in his voice as he muttered, ”Don’t worry, son. We’ll . . . we’ll have a kitchen like this one day. Yes, we will; I promise you.”
The boy didn’t reply but he bent his head forward and rubbed his sweating palms together.
Getting swiftly to his feet, Abel now went towards the table that was placed under one of the two windows in the room. There was on it a green chenille cloth bordered with tasselled braid and, as if he were in his own house, he grabbed a handful of the tassels and began to twist them between his two hands. But realizing what he was doing, his hands sprang apart and with his fingers he hastily began to smooth the tassels out again.
He went to the window and stood looking out. The rain had eased to a mere drizzle. He looked at the flagged yard. It was so well paved there were no puddles on it. To the right was a row of what appeared to be workshops. The double doors of one were open and he glimpsed dismembered bicycles hanging on nails from the wall, and part of a bench. The buildings on the other side of the yard looked like garages. There were four of them, double-storeyed, having lofts or storerooms above them. The bicycle business looked to be thriving. ”He’s settled, he’ll go to sleep now.”
He started and swung round; he hadn’t heard her come into the kitchen. He looked at her fully for the first time. She was what he would call comely; she was of medium height, slightly on the plump side, her skin was fresh and her eyes clear, and her hair an abundant brown. Her mouth was small, her lips full. Altogether she seemed like the house in that she gave off an assurance, sort of God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world. Good Lord ! there was he spouting now. It was catching.
”What. . . what is the trouble with your father?” It was a polite enquiry, but when the answer came, ”He’s not my father, he’s my husband,” he felt the colour sweep over him and he almost stammered, ”I’m sorry, miss . . . ma’am.’
She stared at him for a moment, her head wagging slightly, then she smiled as she said, ”Oh, it’s understandable; it’s a mistake many people make.” Then she turned from him to the boy, and her voice took on a high-pitched note as she cried, ”Oh my goodness! child, you’re steaming like a pudding. Get that coat
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off! You’ll catch your death. Whatever made you sit^efore the fire with that on?”
As she pulled Dick from the chair none too gently, and tugged the coat from him, Abel said, ”It’s my fault; I thought he would dry out before we went on again.” :
”On again ?” She turned her head towards him. She was holding the coat between her fingers and thumb as if it were lice-ridden; then she thrust it over the brass rod running under the mantelshelf and the length of the fireplace.
”Yes, we’re . . . we’re on the road I’m afraid. I’ve . . . I’ve been looking for work, but . . . but unsuccessfully.’
”With the child?”
”Yes.” He lowered his lids. ”I... I had to bring him; circumstances were such . . . well, I had to bring him.”
”Oh! Oh, I’m sorry.” Her voice dropped and she spoke in an aside as if the boy wouldn’t be able to hear. ”His mother, is she. . .?”
The question caused Abel to turn his head away from her. .^JU.» What did one say ? What could one say ? I’ve walked out on my ^^ wife and brought the boy with me and we’ve been on the road for weeks and another one will finish him and when that happens that’ll be the finish of me too. . . .
”Oh, I’m sorry, I understand.” From being low, her tone now rose sharply as she leant towards Dick, smiling now and saying, ”Do you like shepherd’s pie?”
”Yes, ma’am.”
”Well, Mr Maxwell won’t be eating any tonight and so you can have his share.” She was still
smiling when she turned and looked at Abel, and he said, ”Thank you, ma’am. Thank you very much ”
It was a great effort to eat normally and not to shovel the hot appetizing food into his mouth, and he knew that the boy was having the same trouble. The shepherd’s pie was followed by a plateful of creamy rice pudding, and this by a mug of tea and a buttered teacake, a whole one each. Never before and never again was a meal to taste quite like this one.
Immediately they were finished he rose from the table, saying, ”I’ll wash the dishes up, ma’am.”
”Oh no, no” - she shook her head - ”I’ll see to those. Thanks all the same.”
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He remained standing, looking at her now as she bustled around the table, and when she went to remove Dick’s plate, Abel reached out and pulled the boy to his feet, and she said, ”It’s all right, it’s all right. Leave him be.”
”Ma’am.” , ••.-...
”Yes ?” She stopped and looked at him.
”Could I ask a favour of you ?”
”Well” - her face became straight - ”it all depends what it is.”
”Would you allow us to sleep in one of your outhouses tonight?”
”Sleep in one of the outhouses ?” She looked down on Dick, then back up to him, and moving her head slowly, she said, ”I ... I imagined you were on your way somewhere. You mean you have nowhere to sleep ?”
”That’s it, ma’am.”
”Well, where did you expect to sleep tonight . . . and with him ?” She was again looking at the boy.
”We . . . we were originally making for Hexham and . . . and the workhouse. I felt I must get him into somewhere, he’s had more than enough on the road.”
The Man Who Cried Page 8