Hannah came out to stand beside her mother and pull at her shoulder. ‘Ignore him, Mam. Come away,’ she cried, for she was afraid that Craigie would lift his stick and hit Tibbie with it. He looked capable of anything, for the muscles of his face were twitching uncontrollably and his lips were frothing as if he was having a fit. Never a dapper dresser, he had degenerated into a scarecrow figure with long, grey-streaked hair down to his shoulders and a thick stubble of beard on his chin.
He pointed at Hannah and called out in a terrible voice, ‘She’s betrayed her forebears. She’s taken up with one of those devils that’re cutting into our land. She’ll pay for it. I curse her and her black stallion.’
By now, scandalised people had appeared at the village doors and Craigie’s two sisters came running down from the farmyard to try and calm him. They grabbed his arms but he shook them off like a dog shaking fleas out of its coat. ‘No good will come to a navvy’s whore,’ he yelled.
Tibbie was almost as transported by rage as he was. ‘How dare you talk like that about my girl! She’s a respectable lassie and so’s her man,’ she cried. In her fury she reached into Hannah’s basket and grabbed the jar of jam which she heaved at Craigie’s head. If it had hit him it could have cracked his skull, but he dodged and it smashed to pieces on the cobblestones at his feet. That silenced him. Everyone stared at the broken jam jar and then at Tibbie, who was weeping and embracing Hannah.
‘Don’t listen to him, my lamb. Away home to your man and be happy. He’s a good man and I’m glad for you. Craigie Scott’s mad and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,’ she sobbed. Then to Craigie’s sisters she shouted, ‘Get him home. Keep him there. If you don’t he’ll end by getting locked up like his father.’ It was a shocking thing to say, she knew, because village people didn’t throw secrets like that at each other in the open air but she didn’t care. He had miscalled and menaced her beloved Hannah and she felt capable of killing him for that.
One good result of Craigie’s intemperate outburst was to remove the constraint between Hannah and her mother. Next day, Hannah did not use any of the little back lanes when she came into the village but walked proudly up the middle of the main street with her head held high. Her mother, who had been watching for her daughter, came out to meet her and they walked round to the back of Tibbie’s cottage arm in arm. That day too Tibbie was prepared to talk of Tim for the first time and Hannah was able to tell her mother how happy she was in her marriage. They parted with much affection.
Next day, though Tibbie waited anxiously till it was dark, Hannah did not appear, however, and by the afternoon of the day after that, she could contain her anxiety no longer and set out to walk to Rosewell and the navvy camp. There was a feeling of ice in the wind so she wrapped up warmly in two shawls for the journey. As she walked along she could see the gradually-encroaching line of the railway cutting, and reflected that her feelings about the despoilation caused by the railway would never change but she was prepared to relax some of her hostility towards the navvies, at least towards Tim Maquire whom her daughter loved so much. She hurried along with her head down worrying about Hannah, for she knew there had to be some serious reason why she had not visited Camptounfoot for two days.
She did not know what she really expected to see when she reached the navvy camp. Her imagination was filled with Biblical-style scenes of degradation like Sodom and Gomorrah, with lecherous drunken men and lascivious women reeling about. The reality was an anti-climax, for the camp into which she stepped looked quite orderly. The field was full of a huddle of buildings, some neat and trim but others with straggling turf roofs and tip-tilted chimneys. As in Camptounfoot, the doors of each house contained lounging women and ragged children, all shouting and eyeing the stranger with curiosity. Tibbie stepped primly up a muddy track until she came to a shed in which there was a shop, for through its open door she could see a long counter and barrels and sacks lined against the walls. She was not to know that she had found the hated truck-shop where the navvies employed by Jopp were forced to spend their pay. The man in charge was a red-faced old drunk who cheated the customers and short changed the children. When Tibbie put her head in the door and asked him, ‘Where does Mr Maquire live?’ he only shrugged and said, ‘Never heard of him.’
There were some women grubbing through potatoes in a big barrel, looking for the few that were not rotten or sprouting, and one of them lifted her tousled head to say wearily, ‘If you mean Black Ace, I know where he lives.’
‘Take the lady there,’ said the shopkeeper shortly, and when the woman straightened up, Tibbie saw with shocked surprise that one of her eyes was closed by a terrible contusion and her cheek was purple and yellow with bruising. Her upper lip was also badly split and bleeding slightly. ‘Come on, it’s this way,’ she said, stepping out into the open air and gesturing with her hand.
Tibbie trotted along beside her asking anxiously, ‘What on earth happened to your face? Your lip’s bleeding.’
Her guide wiped a hand over her mouth as if she was surprised by Tibbie’s concern. It seemed she was half-stunned and not fully aware of what was happening. ‘Have you had an accident?’ asked Tibbie again, but the only reply was a sigh. ‘Oh, no accident. Just bad luck, that’s all.’
Tibbie put a hand on her arm and said, ‘You should have that face cleaned and dressed. Come with me to my daughter’s and I’ll do it for you.’ When she was close to the woman she smelt a strong whiff of gin but that did not repel her, for the poor soul was obviously suffering. On looking closer, she could see that the woman was young, not much older than Hannah. She had also once been pretty, and moved in a surprisingly graceful way.
‘Is it your daughter that’s married to Black Ace?’ asked the girl, and when Tibbie nodded, she went on, ‘Oh, she’s lucky. He’s a good man, not like the one I’m with. Mine did this to me.’
Tibbie was shocked. ‘That’s awful! It looks as if he might have broken your cheekbone. Is it very painful?’
‘Yes, it is a bit, but the gin helps.’
Tibbie patted her arm. ‘It’ll do more harm than good in the long run. Lead me to Maquire’s hut and I’ll take care of your face.’ They were in a narrower path now and the woman paused to point down it to a hut at the far end. A snake of smoke was rising from its single chimney.
‘That’s Maquire’s house. It’s bonny, isn’t it?’ she said. It was bright with paint and gleaming among the duller huts like a little jewel. Tibbie felt proud for Hannah as she looked at it.
When she walked towards the hut door, her battered guide turned to go but Tibbie reached out and pulled her back, saying, ‘Don’t run off. I’ve offered to help you. I can’t stand to see anybody suffering like you are.’
‘I can’t pay you. I’ve no money,’ said the other woman stiffly.
Tibbie was outraged. ‘Who said anything about being paid? I don’t want any money – I like helping people. Come on in here and Hannah and I will look after you. My name’s Tibbie Mather, by the way. What’s yours?’
‘Mariotta.’
Tibbie knew it would have seemed stupid to say, ‘What a pretty name,’ but that was what came into her mind. ‘Come in here, Mariotta,’ she said gently, pushing open the door to Hannah’s little house. It seemed to her that the girl still hung back but she pulled firmly on her arm and finally succeeded in hauling her inside.
Hannah was in bed, sleeping with her hair tumbled over the pillow. Her face was very white and her mother was momentarily distracted from her first patient by finding herself with another. ‘Oh Hannah, are you sick, bairn?’ she called out anxiously and Hannah woke, sitting up and staring at Tibbie as if she was a vision.
‘Oh Mam, I was feeling awful sick but I think I’m a bit better now,’ she said, swinging her legs over the bed and stepping on to the floor.
Tibbie’s face was a picture. ‘How sick? What kind of sickness?’
‘Just sick. I couldn’t eat. It was the same yesterday morning and my breasts a
re sore…’
Tibbie clasped her hands in delight. ‘You’re pregnant, bairn! She’s pregnant, isn’t she?’ she asked Mariotta.
The battered girl nodded bleakly. ‘It sounds like it,’ she agreed.
Then Tibbie remembered why she’d brought this poor injured person into Hannah’s house. ‘You lie back in bed, Hannah, and tell me where you keep your medicine chest. I met this lassie on the road and she’s needing a dressing on her poor face. Did you ever see anything like it? Her man hit her.’
Hannah watched while her mother bustled about, dipping pieces of clean white cloth into various potions and brews which she’d given Hannah herself and which now came in useful much sooner than she’d expected. Marietta’s face was bathed carefully and Tibbie’s cool little fingers gently touched the damaged places. ‘What kind of a brute would do this to a woman?’ she asked herself as she worked. By this time Hannah was feeling better and had dressed herself in a gingham gown and a long apron. She stood beside her mother and held the basin of water while their patient sat and silently endured the treatment. All the time Tibbie was still speaking. ‘Two of your teeth are broken but things aren’t as bad as I feared. Your cheekbone’s not broken after all, but that lip’s badly cut. It’ll take a while to heal. What did he hit you with?’
‘A stick,’ said Mariotta bleakly.
‘A stick? Don’t you go back to him – run away! Haven’t you any parents you could go to?’
‘No, I’ve nobody.’
‘Oh, you poor soul. Stay here with Hannah and I’ll go back to that shop and buy a wee bit of beef to put on your eye. It’ll take the terrible swelling out of it. I didn’t think much of what that place was selling – it stank – but since you’re not going to eat the beef it won’t matter.’ As she spoke Tibbie was pulling her purse out of her pocket and counting the coins it contained.
Mariotta put up a hand. ‘Oh, don’t spend money on me – I’m not worth it. Anyway, he’ll just hit me again tonight and black the other eye.’
‘Then we’ll get Hannah’s man to talk some sense into him,’ said Tibbie firmly and bustled out. When she came back she put a neatly trimmed bit of beef on Mariotta’s eye and she and Hannah succeeded in persuading their patient to lie down in the bed for a little while. Soon she was fast asleep and they sat talking quietly together about what she’d told them. ‘Isn’t that awful?’ whispered Tibbie, and Hannah nodded.
‘I know there’s some rough people in the camp but Tim and I keep to ourselves and never hear them.’
‘Ask him to do something about that man. He must be a terrible bully to hit a wee woman like her. She’s no bigger than a bairn,’ said Tibbie with deep pity as she looked at the frail figure on the bed.
‘This place isn’t like Camptounfoot,’ said Hannah wryly and Tibbie waggled her head in agreement.
‘I can see that! Why don’t you come back and live with me in the cottage till you have your bairn, Hannah?’
Her daughter laughed. ‘We’re not sure I’m having a bairn yet, Mam.’
But Tibbie nodded. ‘Oh I’m sure, all right. You’ve got that look in your eye women always get when they’re carrying. Come home with me and I’ll look after you.’
‘Oh, Mam, I can’t come home. I wouldn’t leave Tim.’
‘But he could come too.’ It was a tremendous concession and they both knew it.
Hannah took her mother’s hand. ‘Don’t be upset, but we can’t come and stay with you. Think what Craigie would do if Tim moved in next door to him! Anyway, Tim has to stay in the camp to be with his men and we’re awfully happy in this wee house.’
Tibbie accepted her daughter’s arguments, especially the last one, with good grace and was so pleased to think that she was about to become a grandmother that when Marietta awoke some hours later there was a festive air in the little house. A kettle was boiling on the stove and Tibbie was frying pancakes on a big black griddle. When she saw that her patient’s eyes were opened she turned with a smile and asked, ‘How do you feel now, my dear?’
Mariotta sat up. ‘A lot better.’
‘That’s good. Now have some tea and a bite and I’ll take you home.’ But Mariotta would not accept the offer of an escort through the camp though she drank the tea and ate three pancakes. When Hannah and Tibbie waved her off from the green and white painted door, Tibbie called after her, ‘Take care of yourself, lass.’ But even as she heard herself say the words she realised how meaningless they were.
When Tim arrived home that night, he found his wife in a high state of excitement.
‘You’ll never guess! My Mam’s been here – walked in as if it was something she did every day.’
‘That’s grand,’ he said. He was pleased for Hannah because he knew how much Tibbie’s consistent refusal to visit Benjy’s hurt her.
‘And not only that,’ Hannah was saying as she clattered the kettle on top of the stove, ‘but she brought someone with her.’
He laughed as he sat down at the spread supper-table. ‘Not Craigie Scott?’
Hannah grinned at him over her shoulder but then her look became more sober as she went on with her tale. ‘No, she brought a woman she met in the road out there. The poor soul had been beaten by her husband. You should have seen the state she was in! Her face was black and blue. He must be a brute to hit a woman like that, and she was little, not nearly as big as me.’
Tim looked up from the table. ‘What was her name?’
‘Mariotta. Isn’t that a pretty name? Poor thing. Mam put medicine on her face and then made her lie down and have a sleep in our bed.’
Tim sank his head in his hands. ‘Oh Hannah, that must have been cruel for her. This house was hers before her first husband died. She lived here with Benjy and her bairns. I bought the house from Mariotta.’ He decided against saying anything about his refusal of Mariotta’s offer to give herself to him. The story was bad enough without that.
Hannah was looking at him with her eyes wide open and stricken. ‘And we made her come in and lie down in her own bed! I’d no idea. I wouldn’t have done that if I’d known.’
Tim got up from the table. ‘You weren’t to know, and I don’t suppose she’d want to say anything. I’ll go and speak to Bullhead – that’s the man she’s with now. He’d better listen to me.’
It was supper-time and the camp was crowded and noisy as Tim hurried between the huts to the one where Bullhead still lived. As he approached it he saw that there was a woman cowering by the open door and sure enough it turned out to be Mariotta, sitting on the ground with her head sunk in her hands. Though the night was chilly she was only wearing a thin green cotton dress that could not keep out the cold. He bent down beside her and said softly, ‘Mariotta, Hannah told me what happened at Benjy’s today. I’m sorry. She didn’t know it was your house.’
She lifted bleary, bruised eyes and he saw the extent of damage Bullhead had inflicted on her. In only a short space of time she had become almost unrecognisable as the girl who had given him the key of Benjy’s. Her face was battered and swollen, and most of her teeth had been knocked out or broken. Her fair hair, once so neatly combed, was straggling and sparse as if some of it had been torn out by the roots. He could not hide his shock. ‘My God! I told you not to go to Bullhead,’ he gasped. She tried to rise to her feet but she was very drunk and could hardly stand. Tim put a hand under her elbow and said urgently to her, ‘Go away! Go down into the town and take a room in an inn for the night. Sleep it off and in the morning, collect your bairns and go away. I’ll give you the money for your fares.’
But she was beyond understanding, beyond organised action. All she could say over and over again was, ‘That’s a nice lassie you’ve taken up with, Black Ace. Nicer than me. What a kind lassie and a kind mother too. They washed my face and gave me tea… in Benjy’s. It’s a bonny wee place, isn’t it?’
He gave her a little shake. ‘Go and hide yourself from Bullhead. I’ve come to talk to him and you’d better be out of the way w
hen I do.’ She at least did what she was told this time, and went staggering off up the path. He hoped that she was heading for some other hut where she would be given sanctuary, but then he realised that she was going towards the woods. It was a cold night and she had no coat. She’d probably freeze to death if she lay in the open without a covering so he ran after her, pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders as he said, ‘Go and sleep it off some place safe. And when you wake up, don’t go back to Bullhead.’
When he entered the hut his anger was burning inside him like a fire. Bullhead was as usual lording it over his friends. To his disappointment Tim saw that Jimmy was among them. He walked up to the group who were throwing dice by the reeking stove and put a rough hand on Bullhead’s shouder, pulling him to his feet with a fierce grip.
‘Get up you swine,’ he growled between clenched teeth.
Bullhead shook Tim’s hand off. His brows were lowered and his eyes burning. ‘What’s the matter with you now, Black Ace?’ he asked.
‘I’ve come about Mariotta. I’ve just seen her – she’s in a terrible mess. How could you do that to a woman?’
Bullhead leered, ‘Oh so there was something between you and her, then. The bonny redhead’s not enough for you, is she? You can have that woman of mine if you like. Just give me a shillin’ and take as long as you like.’
Without warning Tim drew back his fist and hit the big man straight in the mouth. He felt one of Bullhead’s teeth shatter beneath the blow and that gave him infinite satisfaction. Bullhead shook his head and blood spattered out on to Tim’s shirt-front. ‘Why’d you do that?’ he gasped, wiping his face with his hand.
‘You don’t like it, do you? She doesn’t like that sort of treatment either, and you’ve been handing plenty of it out to her, haven’t you? You’re a pig, Bullhead, just a pig. You’re the sort that give navvies a bad name. If I hear about you hitting Mariotta again, I’ll break the rest of your teeth and your neck as well.’
A Bridge in Time Page 27