'He'll . . . he'll get me.'
'Oh no, he won't; oh no. Don't you worry about that. He won't get you; I'll see to that. Look' - he pulled her round to face him - 'trust me, Jinnie; I'll see that you're never hurt. I wouldn't have you hurt, not for the world, because you're a good girl. I know that and I'll see that he never hurts you. Anyway, he mightn't be here much longer' - his voice dropped 'he's thinking about going back to sea. He's fed up with the mine; the lead's getting at him.'
She made no reply and he then said, 'Now we get on all right, don't we, me and you and Ma? and even the old man, 'cos he knows where he stands; he's wise.'
She was on the verge of tears now and she whimpered,
'I won't be handled.'
'No, no, of course you won't.' He did not add, not yet, anyway; not for a long while. She was so young in some ways but so mature in others. She worked as though she were sixteen or seventeen, yet her thoughts were still those of a very young girl; which was strange, she having been brought up in the workhouse.
He now lifted one heavy plait from the front of her shoulder and put it behind her back; then did the same with the other; and in a soothing tone now he said,
'You've got bonny hair, Jinnie. How do you wash it and get it dry when it's so thick?'
She didn't want to talk about her hair, she wanted to lie down and moan, because there was a strange feeling inside her that was demanding expression; but she knew he was only trying to be comforting, and also to reassure her in order to keep her here. Oh, she knew that.
'On a hot day you want to go and wash it in the pool and let it dry in the sun.'
'The pool?'
'Yes; I showed you where the water comes down from the hills and through the rock and makes that pool.
That's where we get our water from,' and he thumbed over his shoulder.
'But it would make the pool soapy.'
'Well, that wouldn't matter; there's an outlet and it seeps away quite fast.'
He waited a few seconds, then said, 'D'you think you can manage the steps?'
As he helped her to her feet, she said, 'What happened to me?'
'You passed out. It was his screaming and likely the smell, as nothing smells worse than burnt flesh.'
'I'm not sorry.'
'No, I wouldn't expect you to be, lass.'
He watched her now stumble up the steps, and not until she had disappeared from his view through the hatch did he let out a long-drawn sigh; and then went into the kitchen.
There was no sign of Hal, and his father was back in his place in the bed, but his mother was sitting upright, and she beckoned Bruce; and when he stood by her side she whispered, 'Do you think she'll stay?'
'I hope so. For your sake, I hope so.' But she quickly came back at him, saying, 'Not only for my sake; you're used to your bellies being filled as well.'
'Yes, that's in it, too.'
'What did you say to her?'
'Oh, I led her off the beaten track, talked about her lovely hair.'
'Her hair!'
'Yes; haven't you noticed she's got lovely hair? Well, I told her she should go and wash it up at the pool. You know, Ma, we're very like animals: you frighten a young lamb and it needs a lot of patting, besides sucking on a teat bag, to bring it round.'
She said nothing, only her heart spoke as she thanked God for him.
The next morning, white-faced and weary-eyed, she entered the kitchen to prepare the breakfast; and after Bruce had come down from the loft, she waited in trepidation for Hal's appearance.
When, presently, Bruce said, 'Put your own out, he's gone,' her body slumped with relief.
Bruce did not inform her how his brother had been inveigled into leaving nor did she enquire.
It was half-past six in the morning and he had gone!
With that hand, how could he? And so, on a nervous mutter, she said, 'You . . . you . . . haven't done
. . . done . . . anything to him?'
'No, Jinnie; I haven't done me brother in, if that's what you mean. That's what you meant to say, isn't it?'
She did not answer but continued to stare at him.
'To ease your mind I'll put you in the picture. I've been up since four o'clock. I took him down on the cart, reluctantly I must say. Oh yes, reluctantly. But he has a number of friends both in the village and in the town. I left him to make his way to one of his own choice. Now take that look off your face and get your porridge. Then see to Ma. She's very tired this morning and I think I'd get her out on to a chair later and change that bed from top to bottom. Turn the tick if you can. If you find you can't, go out to me da and tell him to come and give you a hand. Will you do that?'
She motioned with her head but did not speak . . .
It would appear that life had dropped back into the familiar pattern it had taken before the elder son had put in an appearance. From snatches of conversation between Bruce and his mother she gleaned that The Admiral was in dock being thoroughly overhauled and that Sammy, whoever he was, would be still at home and so as long as he stayed there, Adelaide Morgan would now be getting her share. A share of what, she couldn't fathom, but whatever it was the missis implied that her son wouldn't be charged a lot for lodgings. And now being back at work, he'd be well in pocket.
Then came the morning when, at ten o'clock, Bruce unexpectedly came in. He was holding a letter, but instead of making for the bed, he looked over the table to where Jinnie was sitting back on her hunkers from scrubbing the stone flags, and he smiled down at her as he said, 'Well, get to your feet! Here's a surprise: a letter for you.'
When the voice said, 'A letter for her?' he turned to his mother and said, 'Yes, Ma, for her.'
'Do we ever get letters? Can you remember us ever getting a letter? Who's it from?'
'I don't know; and she won't know until she opens it.
Can you read?'
She was drying her hands on her coarse apron, and she said, 'A bit, if the print's big. Yes; words.'
'Well, what else would you read but words, girl? It's a silly answer.'
'No, it isn't, Ma. No, it isn't. Anyway, there's your letter, lass. Open it and see who it's from.'
Jinnie had never before received a letter. She looked first at the front of the envelope, and then at the back; then looked about for something with which to open it. The kitchen drawer in the table suggested a knife, so quickly she pulled one out and inserted it into the envelope, and then took from it a folded sheet of paper.
'Well, what does it say? Who's it from?'
She pressed the piece of paper to her breast with both hands and looked from one to the other before she said,
'Miss Caplin.'
'Miss Caplin? She's the one you liked, isn't she?'
She looked at Bruce and nodded, saying, 'Yes. Yes.'
'Well, what does she want to write you a letter about?'
She turned to look at the missis and said, 'She's visiting her aunts next Sunday; she's got the whole day off, and Max an' all, and he's driving her.'
'Does it say all that? Read it out, girl.'
She held up the paper before her face and looking at the large letters, read very slowly:
'I will be at my aunts' on Sunday next: Max is driving me. I would very much like to see you, Jinnie. Very sincerely, your friend Jane Caplin.'
Her head bounced now as she grinned from ear to ear and said, 'There! There, 'tis the first letter I have read.
But I've read the Bible. This was easier, though, 'cos Miss Caplin has written in big letters.' She turned the page round and held it out for both of them to see.
'Who are her aunts? And where do they live?'
It was Bruce she answered, saying, 'At the bottom of the bank, where you met us. Further back along the road, up the side way. 'Twas the last place we passed before we came on you.'
'What's their name?' he asked softly.
'The Miss Duckworths live there.'
'What, Ma?'
'The Miss Duckworths, and they are ladies.'
'Yes, you can go. Of course, you can go.' It was Bruce speaking, but he turned to his mother, adding, 'Can't she?'
'I suppose so.'
'I've been six weeks here and had no time off, missis.'
'Six weeks?'
'Aye, yes, it was six weeks yesterday.'
'Well--' the woman now shrugged herself back into her pillows, saying, 'If you want to go jaunting you'll have to look a bit tidier than you are: you'll have to get that print of yours washed again, and your hair washed an' all. It's like a doormat on the top. Do you ever comb it?'
'Oh aye, missis. Yes, every night I take out my plaits and I comb it. But then I have to sleep on it.'
Bruce was smiling at her, and what he said to her implied a question: 'Perhaps after seeing them you won't want to come back.'
'Oh yes, I will. I like it here. When we're on our own, I like it. It's good. Yes, I like it up here.'
He stared at her for a moment before suddenly turning to go to the door, singing quietly: 'The sky is high, the air is free, come, my love, and live with me on this barren rock above the sea.'
Oh, he had a lovely voice. But what a strange song.
She turned eagerly to look at the missis, only to see the woman with her head bent on to her chest and a hand across her mouth. And so she went swiftly to her, saying,
'You feeling bad, missis? You want to be sick?'
It was some seconds before Rose Shaleman sighed and dropped back on to the pillow.
'I'm all right, girl. I'm all right. Make a pot of tea.
I'm all right.'
Slowly, Jinnie turned from the bed and went towards the fire, pushing her bucket aside as she did so. She was puzzled. There were things about the people of this house that puzzled her, things she didn't understand; although one thing she did understand, and that was very clear: Mister Bruce's singing had upset his mother.
The meaning in it she must have taken to heart; the words must have reminded her of something. She had never seen her face so waxen.
Oh, but she now had something to look forward to: on Sunday she would see them, Miss Caplin and Max, the two people so dear to her. And yes, she'd wash her print frock and iron it beautifully; she'd press the three pleats in the front until they were like knife edges; and she would wash her hair an' all. It hadn't been washed for weeks, and Miss Caplin would be the first to notice it and would say, 'Why haven't you washed your hair, Jinnie?' She'd go up to that pool. Oh, she didn't mind what might happen now, she had Sunday to look forward to.
The sun was hot on her neck as she bent over the bank and lathered her hair in the water. It was the most wonderful feeling. Through the hanging threads she could see the ends trailing away. They looked like bronze or gold. Yes, gold. She was glad she had lovely hair because she wasn't pretty, not really pretty. The bit of broken mirror hanging in the scullery used as a shaving glass by the men told her that her eyelashes, like her hair, were long; and that she had a nice mouth. But she didn't have rosy cheeks, and pretty girls always had rosy cheeks. She had very little colour in her face at all. To her it was all of a sameness, a creamy-white, pallid-looking sameness accentuated by the brightness of her hair.
The lathering done, she swished her head in the water, then scooped handfuls over the back of her head to get the soap off. It was blue mottled soap she had used, the same kind as she used to scrub the floor, the same soap they all used, a rough soap. Miss Caplin had once given her a tablet of lovely soap for a Christmas box. Oh, it had smelled nice, and had lasted for months, because she had used it only on her face.
Sitting sideways on the bank now, she screwed her hair into a tight rope and squeezed the first shower of water out of it; then picking up the coarse towel at her side, she began to dry her hair. She rubbed until her arms ached; strand after strand of hair she dried with the rough towel.
She sat back and propped herself up on her hands and let her hair fall around her like a cloak, and as the sun beat on her she knew that her hair would soon be dry.
Now and again she would lift one hand and disturb the spread in order to get the underneath dry. She could also feel the sun beating on to the top of her chest where she had turned in the collar of her dress, a nice and unusual sensation. She hadn't felt so clean, so relaxed or so happy for a long time. This time tomorrow she would be with Miss Caplin and Max.
She did not know for how long she had been sitting in this relaxed state when, with a start, she looked up to where she could glimpse a section of the rough road that passed the farm which supplied them with milk, and which eventually led to the village from where it branched off to Allendale.
She reassured herself that nobody could see her, for she would be hidden by the gorse and bushes. She was settling back again, when once more she became alert, this time because of the neighing of a horse. The sound came from a distance; but it had broken the peace of the afternoon. What if it was Mr Hal and he had been watching her?
Well, where could he watch her from? He hadn't a horse. She felt uneasy. She gathered up her soap and the towel, and as she got to her feet she was glad she hadn't taken off her boots and stockings to go into the pool, for, apart from her hair hanging down, she would have been showing her bare legs . . .
She had no sooner entered the door of the cottage than she knew somebody had been riding past, and that must have been the young master from The House, for there, on the table, was a large basket of fruit. But sitting at the table was the dreaded Hal.
She hadn't seen him for some time, at least not since the night of the stabbing; and now he turned and glared at her. Bruce, who was also in the room, exclaimed, 'By!
You've made that into a busby. It'll take some brushing down.'
'Go and plait your hair, girl!'
She looked towards the bed and said, 'Yes, missis,'
and hurried through the scullery and up into the roof space, and there, taking a dry but worn scrubbing brush, she went to work to flatten the busby, as Mister Bruce had called it.
It was a full half-hour before she came down the steps again and into the kitchen, to be greeted by the missis with, 'Mash some tea, girl, and butter those pieces of pastry you made yesterday.'
Making no reply, she went about obeying the order, all the time listening to the talk across the end of the table between the two brothers. 'You want to think twice about the sea,' Bruce was saying; 'there's some tough'uns man those ships.'
'Tell me something I don't know, and tell me I can't take care of meself.'
'Oh, you can take care of yourself all right; that's if it's man to man; but if it's man to gang and a few belaying pins are flying around, you couldn't do much about it.
And I'm told they're clannish on some boats.'
'Since when do you know anything about boats?'
'Oh, I've been to Newcastle a number of times. I've even been on board one or two of them. And from the bar-talk around the quays, you can believe at least half of what they say about the conditions.'
'My! My! Clever bugger, as always.'
'I keep me ears open.'
'That's enough!' broke in their mother. 'That's enough, the both of you. You know what it'll lead to.
If you, Hal, want to go to sea, you go to sea. Anyway, you'll probably save yourself a bit of money.'
'Oh, about money, Ma. I want to have a talk with you about money.'
'Well, it won't be now, lad, you'll talk to me about money.'
Rose Shaleman now glanced towards where Jinnie, her head bent, was piling the scones on a plate. And a silence fell on the room.
After Jinnie had poured out the tea and put the plate on the table, the missis said curtly, 'Have you ironed that dress of yours?' and she replied, 'Not yet, missis.'
'Well, go and do it now else it'll never be done. I don't want you to look like a rag-tag when you go down there tomorrow.'
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She had hardly left the room before Hal, looking at his mother, said grimly, 'Has the dear little girl been invited to a party?'
'Some such.'
'God! Where?' He was sitting back in his chair, his eyes wide.
' 'Tis no party,' put in Bruce.
'Well, if it isn't a party what is it?' and Hal mimicked his mother, 'Have you ironed that frock yet?'
'She's going to visit two people she knew in the workhouse.
They're coming up to the Miss Duckworths.'
'She's going down to the Miss Duckworths! Her?
They won't let her in the door, those two old hoitytoities.'
'Well, apparently their niece has some kind of a position in the workhouse, and has kept an eye on the lass from the time she first went in after her father died. And there's an inmate there, a man who did the same.'
'Well! well! well! Did she let him touch her?'
'Keep your dirty mouth closed, and look at your wrist and remember all women aren't alike, all girls aren't alike; and by God! if you met that fella, if you said as much as a wrong word against her, that would be as much as your life would be worth. I'm telling you that.'
'Oh, a bruiser, is he?'
'No; you could say he looked to me like one of those gentle giants you hear about, and he talked like one an'
all. I've never seen a man the size he is, I'm telling you; I wouldn't like to be the one to upset him.'
'My! my! She would seem to have as much protection as a brothel mistress.'
At this, Bruce sprang up from his chair and cried angrily at his brother, 'Why the hell don't you go to sea and stay there, or better still, get yourself into a brothel and be a madam's man; you seem to know so much about them.'
'I've told you!' The voice came sternly from the bed now. 'Now, I'm telling you, please stop it! Both of you, I'm feeling bad.'
Hal, too, rose to his feet, saying now, 'Anyway, on Monday I'm starting in the mine again, at least for a time; I only came up to tell you that you might have to put up with me company for the next few days; not for many, I hope, just as long as it takes for a certain boat to have her backside scraped; then I'll be back to as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. So long, Ma.'
She did not look at him, or speak, and he left the room, slamming the door after him; but his voice could be heard speaking to his father in an exchange that was anything but friendly.
The Tinker's Girl Page 8