The Tinker's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  'It'll kill him; he'll choke. He'll choke,' Rose Shaleman screamed; and Max turned to the woman in the bed, saying, 'P-pity then, missis, 'cos . . . 'cos I haven't f-f-finished yet: said I'd leave a m-mark for all to see, and I w-w-will, one he w-w-won't be able to hide.' Then looking at Bruce, he said, 'Razor?'

  'What? Oh man, no!'

  'Not . . . not kill him, no. Nor . . . nor blood him either, just. . . just razor.'

  'No! please. I ... I understand how you feel; I feel the same too. I promise you he'll suffer for this more than he has already, but please! please don't . . . don't mark his face. Please!'

  'No, no, not . . .not on the face, no; razor.'

  Bruce looked to his father - there was a plea in his eyes - but Pug shook his head; the man was obviously just as afraid of this huge beast of a man, as he thought of him, as was his swinging son.

  'You . . . you mean to cut him?'

  Max shook his head vigorously, saying, 'No. No mean to cut him. No, just razor.'

  Bruce could still not comply with the demand. It wasn't until his mother said, 'Give him the razor; I know what he's going to do; give him the razor,' that Bruce went to the far side of the fireplace where, underneath the cracked mirror, a wooden box stood on a small cupboard, and from it he took a razor which he handed to Max.

  After pulling open the blade, Max stropped it on the palm of his hand; then he gripped the forelock of the thick black wavy hair of the dangling figure and proceeded to dry shave the rest of the head until there was nothing left but a small tonsure on the crown.

  Rose Shaleman's face was tightly pressed into the pillow; one hand was covering her eyes, the other gripping the edge of the bed. Pug was standing, his eyes wide, his mouth agape, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Bruce was not looking at the proceedings; his head was bowed. Strangely, there was no sound in the room. It could have been that Hal was frozen in terror, and likely he was.

  The gruesome business over, Max released his hold on the body and left Hal swinging gently to and fro, his arms and legs no longer flailing but hanging limp. When he began to splutter and the hair sprayed from his mouth, Bruce looked at the big man who was now returning the razor to its case, and he said grimly, 'You finished?'

  'Yes, fin-finished,' only to add, as if in an afterthought,

  'for a time. She'll not come back until . . .

  he goes; and I'll not go' - he waved his hand as if into the distance - 'I'll not go until ... he gone.'

  'You . . . you could be had up for this.' It was a mutter from the small man, and Max, looking down on him in disdain, said, 'Yes, had up ... with police in court. Good; I like in court . . . tell of attack,' and he thumbed towards the dumbfounded Jinnie, standing with her hands pressed tight across her mouth as she watched the bald, dangling figure. She did not take her eyes off him until Max's hand came on her shoulder and pulled her to the front of him and said, ' She used knife to ... to save herself, yes, t-tell in court; then this,' saying which he bent forward and with his other hand took up the depleted plait from the table and, gripping the thick end, he swung it until once again it was twisted around his wrist. As he entwined the two ends he was nodding at the little man again, saying,

  'Get me had up ... that p-p-please me, yes.' Then with one hand on Jinnie's shoulder and the other indicating her, he said, 'Like . . . like d-d-daughter, mine . . . my d-d-daughter,' and pressing Jinnie before him, made for the door. And they were gone.

  Stunned, Bruce did not spring forward towards his brother; his actions were slow as he mounted the table; and it took all his strength to hoist Hal upwards in order to release the belt from the hook. The result was, they both fell into a huddle on to the table.

  Rose Shaleman was now sitting on the side of the bed and groaning audibly: her son was more bald than on the day he was born, for he'd had black hair even then. 'Oh, Hal . . . Hal,' and there was pity in her voice. But he made no response.

  He could not stand without the aid of Bruce's arm around his shoulders, and although Bruce felt that his brother deserved all he had received, nevertheless it was so extreme that he could not but feel deep pity for him, for he had been proud of his hair, as Jinnie had been proud of hers. But then to go and cut off a plait . . .

  Why hadn't he cut off both of them? And how had she got away? Hal had come in in a scurry, almost running.

  Likely, someone had disturbed him, for, God above!

  he would surely have done to her what he had tried before.

  After throwing off Bruce's support, Hal now stumbled towards the scullery, and there sluiced the remaining hair from his mouth, before returning to the kitchen and making directly for the shaving mirror, to stand for a full minute amid a weird silence before saying to Bruce, 'Take the razor and finish it off, will you?'

  'I ... I wouldn't do that, Hal.'

  'Well, I suppose I can do it myself.'

  'Here, give it to me. Sit down,' said Pug.

  After a moment, Hal obediently sat down and Pug Shaleman shaved off the remnants of black hair.

  When Hal remained sitting in the chair, his mother said to him, 'What are you going to do, lad?'

  'What am I going to do, Ma? What I intended to do when I came in here, leave . . . but . . .'

  'But, lad?'

  'Oh, this.' Hal patted his very tender scalp as if he was used to the feel of it and said,' Oh, there's been bald men before me. I saw a young one the other day, couldn't be past his middle twenties and all he had at the back was a ring of hair. It runs in families, you know.'

  This attitude of his brother maddened Bruce, and he yelled at him, 'Stop playing the big bugger! You deserved all you got. It was a filthy, dirty trick to cut off her hair.'

  'Was that all I did, just cut off her hair? Well, let me tell you, brother' - Hal's tone changed now - 'she's damn lucky she got away with one plait missing, for it was half my intention to do her in. So there you have it! Nobody, old or young, big or little has used a knife on me before, at least, no female, and by God!

  I wasn't going to let her be the first. The workhouse brat! She's a vicious little bitch, and I did to her what she did to me, and if she only knew it, she owes her life to a dog that heard her squeal.'

  They looked at him in disbelief now; all pity for him was fading or had already gone. They all realised he was quite capable of having finished her off.

  'Well, I'll take me share now, Ma,' he said. 'That's what it was all about, wasn't it, when that mad imbecile put in his appearance?'

  'There again you're making a mistake, Hal: that fella's not daft. To my mind he's wiser than most, although it's only the second time I've met him. I'd look out for him. By! yes, I would; I'd look out for the rest of the time you're in this quarter.'

  'Well, if you want me out of this quarter' - Hal turned to his mother again - 'let me have me cut.'

  'No!' It was his father denying him again.

  'Well, you try to stop me taking it, Da, just try.'

  At this Bruce stepped to the bed and placing a hand on his mother's side, he said, 'Move along, Ma,' and, silently, she obeyed. He then turned up the top thin tick and groped beneath it until his fingers came into contact with a chamois leather bag, which he pulled out and handed to his mother.

  'You should mind your own bloody business. There's none of yours, none of yours in there,' said Pug.

  'There's as much of mine in there as there is of his,'

  Bruce said, thumbing towards Hal. 'And let me tell you, Da, there's not a penny of yours in there, because you never earned a penny of it. But give him his due' - again he was thumbing towards Hal - 'he paid his whack all that long time you spent filling your guts with beer, using money made from your private deals that should have gone into the pot. We lost more than a sheep or two during that time, didn't we, Da? Hal kept us going then, while I slaved on the farm here for nothing. I call it a farm, and it should be a thriving business if it had two people working on it. And do I receive any wage? I haven't baccy or beer money
; but from now ft

  things are going to be different. Count out twelve, Ma.'

  At this, Hal's voice came from behind Bruce, saying

  'Make it twenty.'

  'You're getting twelve, and you can thank your stars you're gettin that much. And while you're on, Ma, give me three; I need new boots and breeches.'

  Obediently the sick woman counted out twelve sovereigns from the bag; then another three.

  The twelve Bruce took from her in one hand, the three in the other, then turned to his brother and handed him his share, saying, 'I don't begrudge you that, Hal.'

  'Huh! that's good of you, I'm sure. That's very good of you, brother. If I was getting me due it'd be three times that.'

  'If you were getting your due you'd be in hell,' put in Pug.

  Bruce looked from his father to his brother, and it came to him to ask how two people could be so alike under the skin and yet hate each other; and the answer was, he supposed, because they knew each other like no-one else did.

  They watched Hal pick up his cap from the table and put it on his head, pulling it well down at the back to save it slipping over his brow, and a strange feeling caused his hands to remain on the cap for a moment before he grabbed up the holdall from the floor, and the coat with it, then made for the door.

  There, he stood quietly looking out on to the open plain for a time. It must have been all of two full minutes before he turned, his eyes flicking from one to the other, and said, 'Going to make you a promise: I'll be back one day. Aye, I'll be back one day. I'm going to spend me time working out a plan of what I'll do when I come back. Every day I breathe from now on I'll work towards it, and I hope you'll all be here when I return to this set of pigsties. Your time, Ma ... no; your time's run out, has been for years, but I've got no pity for you 'cause you never had any for me, had you? I was the thing that brought you to this hovel and you took it out on me. Oh by God! you did.

  You thrashed it out of me: you shook it out of me until me teeth rattled. Oh aye, until me teeth rattled. Then you pushed me into the mine to get me out of your sight. No shepherding sheep for me. Oh no, the mine it was; you got good money in the mine, you could starve depending on sheep, couldn't you, Ma? Couldn't you, Da? But when the bonny boy came along things were different, weren't they? And you know, Bruce, I should have hated you, yet I never did. Didn't like you much but I never hated you, not like I should have, knowing what I did, at least going by the gossip in the village and which reached as far as the market place in Hexham.

  Did you ever hear of a fella called The Penny Verse and Tuppenny Painter? You will one day. Aye, you will one day. Goodbye then, all; but don't forget what I said,'

  and his voice dropping, he added, 'I'll be back and the way I feel at this moment it'll only be just; God sparing me. Oh aye, that'll be the day.'

  There was a moment of utter silence before he turned and walked through the doorway.

  Bruce remained by the window until his brother had disappeared from view. His father had been talking, talking, talking, but none of it had penetrated his mind until he heard him say, 'You shouldn't have given him any; he must have had some stashed away, he had something to lift at the day of the pays and he didn't come and hand you anything then to push into the bag, did he? No. Did he bring anything once a month out of his subsistence pay? And since leaving Beaumont's he's no

  been paid weekly at the drift this new fella's making. I know that, 'cos Peter . . .'

  'Shut up! for God's sake, Da. Shut up! If you're so concerned about money, why the hell don't you earn some? Yes, I'll say what I've been thinking, just that.

  And another thing, you've lost a son. Oh, you didn't care for him, nor he for you, but you've lost a son.

  And what actually frightens me is how little you have in that mind of yours. You have just seen a giant walk in here, hang up your son on a meat hook, gag him with a mouthful of hair, then shave him to the last few hairs on his head, and it hasn't affected you, has it? No, it hasn't. The only thing that's in your mind now is the fact that he got twelve pounds and I've got three and knowing inside yourself that you haven't the pluck to brave Ma and demand a cut - not a share, 'cos you haven't earned it - just a cut.' He looked at his mother now and said, 'I'm going down to bring the lass back; that's if she'll come. I wouldn't blame her for preferring the workhouse, but whether she comes or she doesn't, I'm speaking to the two of you now: there's going to be changes here. Oh aye, changes; big ones.'

  in

  The tallyman spread his wares on the waterproof sheet in which they had been wrapped: strings of beads, and rings and brooches and pendants, studded combs and earrings; pearl necklaces and ruby hair clips. Absolutely all genuine, he emphasised, as he looked into Jinnie's bright face, then from her to Rose Shaleman, who was propped up in the bed now and smiling as she confirmed his statement: 'Absolutely genuine. Oh yes, yes, tallyman, I'll stand by you in that, absolutely genuine.' And then they laughed together, the fat man saying, 'Well, I do my best, Missis Rose, I do my best. And you should know for I've visited you twice a year now for how long?'

  'Don't ask me to reckon, tallyman.'

  Jinnie raised her eyes from the gleaming display, looking from one to the other, and smiling widely, she said, 'Is that your real name, Mister Tallyman?'

  'No; my dear; and it's a wrong name for me. A real tallyman is a man that hawks goods round houses and sells them for twice their value because he has to take payment for them just so much at a time . . . you know, what a body can afford. A tallyman, my dear, sells dry

  goods, tools and bedding and such. No, I am not a tallyman, and I don't know how I came by the name, really, for I have no connections going back with tallymen or gypsies. Perhaps . . . yes, I think perhaps I come of tinker stock. I suppose you would call me a tinker.'

  'Oh.' Her mouth was wide now. 'My dada was a tinker.'

  'Never!'

  'Yes. Yes, we had a horse and cart and he sold pans and kettles and fireside things and cooking tins, all things, like that.'

  'Never!'

  'Yes. Yes, he was.' Then her face losing its smile she said, 'He died when I was seven.'

  'Oh. Poor man.'

  'I'm glad you're really a tinker, Mister Tallyman.'

  When the laughter subsided, the tallyman, wiping his eyes, said, 'And how old are you now, me pretty dear?'

  'I am gone fifteen.'

  'Fifteen. My goodness me! fifteen, and you so tall.

  I would've said sixteen . . . seventeen, wouldn't you, Missis Rose?'

  'No, I wouldn't, tinkerman, for sometimes she talks and acts like a twelve-year-old.'

  When Jinnie lowered her head Rose Shaleman said,

  'Now get on with your choosing else we'll get no work done today. You want something nice for your Miss Caplin's birthday, don't you?'

  'Yes, missis.' She picked up an embossed oval locket and, turning towards the bed, she said, 'That looks lovely, doesn't it? She would like that.'

  'See if it opens properly and the hinge is all right.'

  She did as she was bidden, and looking up at the tinker, she said, 'It swings nice.'

  'Of course, it does, me dear, of course it does; I never sell anything that doesn't swing nice, not in lockets.'

  'How much is it?'

  'Oh.' He handled it now, saying, 'It's a beautiful piece and it's heavy, but it needs to go on a chain and unfortunately I haven't a chain with me today. I have a new supply coming in though. When is this needed for the special lady?'

  'Oh, towards the end of next month.'

  'Towards the end of next month. Oh, I'll have them in before then. Oh yes. But I may not be up this way.'

  He now turned towards the bed, asking, 'Will she be going over to the August fair in Allendale?'

  'No, she won't, tinkerman, she's got too much work to do here instead of going to fairs, but my son will be at the fair; he'll be taking down the sheep and pigs.'

  'Well, then, he can pick up the chain for the little lady'
/>
  - he now patted Jinnie on the top of her head -' and I can tell her she's not missing all that much; there are much better fairs during the year. It's only held for horses and pigs and such, a chance for the farmers to get rid of their remnants. I never think much of the August fair, although, mind, I can look back to a time when it drew people from far and wide; but those times will never come again; even the ordinary fairs are getting thin.

  'Oh yes, they are, because who wants to pay toll money for their carts on the new roads? And then there's this railway; they've got it as far as Catton now and I think they intend to go over the hills with it. My, my!

  the changes we've seen; but life goes on, and me ... I try to brighten it with me wares as I go on along the way. So, my dear, you're going to have the locket. But we haven't discussed the price. Can you afford it?' He again turned to the bed: 'Can she afford it, Missis Rose?'

  'I should think she can; she gets well paid; there's not many get a shilling a week and their keep, not these days.'

  'A shilling a week?' The bushy white eyebrows went up to meet the fringe of white hair and the man repeated,

  'A shilling a week? Oh well, then I have no hesitation in stating the price, but before I do, I am going to tell you it's worth twice as much as I'm asking; oh yes, it is worth a crown of anybody's money; but because you are a new customer, my dear, I will split it in half and it is yours for half a crown; two shillings and sixpence. Now, there you are.'

  'Hold your hand a minute, tinkerman.' Rose Shaleman had pulled herself up on the pillows and she was wagging a finger at him: 'That same locket has jumped sixpence in six months, if I've got any eyes in me head.'

  'Oh come! Come, Missis Rose! I've never cheated in my life. That isn't the same kind of locket as I used to sell for two shillings. Look, take it into your hand and see.' He held it out to her. 'Look at the embossment around it, and open it. It can hold two articles: a strand of hair on one side and a little picture of a dear one at the other. You see there's clasps at both sides. Oh no, I could never let this go for less than two . . .