well, say two and threepence.'
'You don't change, tinkerman, not by a farthing you don't change. All right, girl, give him his two and threepence, and then you have your present for your miss. Now, tinkerman, we don't want any more jewellery or fancy bits and pieces, but I would like to see what you've got in your ribbon bag.'
'Oh, my ribbon bag. Yes, yes. Now, funny thing, I have never thought of showing you my ribbon bag, not for years, but then, of course, you haven't had a pretty little miss running your homestead.' The man now bent down and from a knapsack lying on the floor he lifted up a bag and proceeded to shake its contents on to a corner of the table.
'There's a sky full of colours for you! Now, what's your choice?'
"Tisn't my choice, tinkerman, I'm past choosing ribbons. Take your pick, girl.'
The, missis?'
'Well, who else? Is there any other girl in the room?'
Jinnie bit on her lip, then eyes wide, she stared down at the galaxy of jumbled ribbons and slowly her hand went out and she drew upwards a yellow ribbon.
'Why a yellow one, girl? I thought it would be blue or pink.'
Jinnie turned and looked at her mistress, saying, 'Just like the sun.'
The tinkerman nodded his head in agreement as he said, 'You're right, me dear, you're right, 'tis like the sun. And this one is of such a quality that it will never fade; there'll be no sunset for that ribbon; it will always
remain bright, and it will shine brighter when it adorns your beautiful hair.'
'Enough of that, tinkerman, her head'll be turned soon enough. Now, girl, make the tinkerman a cup of tea and butter a wad of that flat cake you made yesterday.'
And Rose Shaleman's voice dropped to a whisper as she added, 'She's a good little cook, none better.'
And in a similar whisper, the tinkerman replied,' Oh, I'm glad to hear that. By the look of her I think she'll be good at everything she tackles. Intelligent face, that's what I say she has, an intelligent face. Bonny yes, but sensible for her years.'
Jinnie's ears were burning: she had never listened to praise such as this in all the months she had been here; in fact, she had never in her life been praised by anyone, not even by Miss Caplin. Advised, cautioned yes, but never praised.
By the time Jinnie had mashed the tea and buttered a generous slice of oven-bottomed bread, the tinker had rolled up his goods and was sitting at the far end of the table chatting away to the woman in the bed, and she had no sooner placed the mug and plate before the old man when her mistress said, 'Take a can to the mister.'
This order was surprising, for it was the first time she had been told to carry tea to her master in the afternoon.
In the morning yes, but never in the afternoon.
Once the door had closed on Jinnie, Rose Shaleman settled herself into a new position in the bed so that she could look fully at the tinker, and she said, 'Well, give us your news. What's the latest in your travels?'
'Well now, Missis Rose, I wouldn't know where to start. The world's going topsy-turvy, you know, really topsy-turvy, but some things remain the same, for instance, you know Hannah Brown?'
'Yes, I know Hannah Brown, tinkerman. Don't tell me . . .'
'Yes, I'm going to tell you; her fourteenth last week.'
'Never!'
' 'Tis a fact; her fourteenth, and all alive but one, and there's eight of them still at home.'
'In those three rooms?'
'In those three rooms, and as happy as a dog with two tails. The child was eight pounds and a boy, another one to tip up his earnings in a few years' time. And she'll be alive to receive it, for she's as healthy as a hog that's been brought up on milk and eggs, and she's forty-six, if a day. And that, Missis Rose, is a good thing. You know, all the years I've been travelling, I've never found big squads among people with money. I've only once heard of a squire who managed ten; for the rest it's one or two or three. Well, you've got to go no further than Towbridge House and the Baxton-Powells: two, Master Richard and Miss May, and the boy not of the strongest, as everybody knows, and it is said that there's a marriage in the offing for him - the Rowlands are returning this weekend from Scotland, I understand. A Hall it is, twice the size of Towbridge House. The maids could hardly look at my wares this morning, there was so much fuss and bustle going on. But then I suppose you would have heard about it before now with your son being a friend of Mister Richard. Now, I've always thought, Missis Rose, that that is one of the strangest friendships I've come across. Of course, it was only allowed, I know, because one saved the other's life; usually there's a small hand-out and that's that; but those two, well, I understand they still run on the hills together.'
Rose brought her chin tightly into her neck and there was a hint of annoyance in her tone as she said, 'I see nothing strange about their friendship. The House owes my son a great deal; but for him there wouldn't be an heir.'
'Oh, I quite agree with you and I've said as much, yes I have; I've said as much to the cook there, and before today: I've said, say what you like about it being odd that the young master should run the hills with the likes of... well, I mean, with an ordinary farmer's son and insists on doing it when he knows it annoys his mother and father.'
'Who told you that?'
'Oh, my dear, my dear Missis Rose, you get to hear all things in the kitchens of the great; and it isn't today or yesterday he was told to give up his running, supposedly because of his health. You know, he had rheumatic fever?'
'Nobody better than me knows that he had rheumatic fever, and nobody better than me knows that if it hadn't been for my son, who nearly died himself, he wouldn't be here today to get married, or anything else.'
'Missis Rose' - the white head was shaking from side to side - 'I've said those very words, those very very words I've said: I've said that the master and mistress should go down on their bended knees that they've got a son to run the hills, no matter who with. He's a gentleman, Mister Richard, a real gentleman, he knows he owes this house a debt, and he keeps on paying it in his own way, so I understand: you're not without your baskets of fruit or your butter at times. You don't need eggs. Oh no; you don't need eggs.'
The countenance of his customer told the tinker that it was time to take his leave; but he couldn't be dismissed so lightly. As he lifted his bag on to the table and buckled the leather straps together he said, 'You won't have heard from your son, I suppose? Being on a cargo boat like The Admiral, it'll be some time before he gets a letter to you, for I understand what's already out there just plies back and forward between the islands. Must be wonderful, that, to be aboard a ship that goes from one island to another.'
'How d'you know, tinkerman, that he's on a ship called The Admiral?'
'Oh, my dear Missis Rose, they were chatting about it in the King's Head the last time I was in. They were saying how funny it was that one man from these parts should choose to go to sea while another, Sam Valasquey, should suddenly decide to stay ashore. Now there's a bruiser of a man for you. I could never stand that man; most uncivil; a heathen of a man, really, and only too willing to use his fists, so that his poor wife almost always has both eyes looking the same colour.
And why? Why?'
'Good day, tinkerman, but let me tell you you're on the wrong track this time.'
'I am? You mean . . .?'
'I mean nothing, but I know what you mean and I repeat, you're on the wrong track. Good day, tinkerman.'
'Good day to you, Missis Rose. I don't suppose I'll be this way again until the New Year, but until I see you again, I wish you well.'
She did not return his farewell, and after the door had closed on the old man with his pack on his back, she lay back among the pillows and sighed deeply.
The tinkerman was her only means of getting news of the outside world, but he always managed to irritate her one way or another: another time, his barbs would have been against Pug.
Jinnie did not re-enter the house until she saw the tinker leaving, and when she d
id go into the kitchen she went straight to Rose and in a soft voice she said,
'Thank you so much, missis, for that lovely ribbon. I'll always keep it for special days.'
Mollified somewhat by Jinnie's attitude, Rose Shaleman nodded her head and said quietly, 'Well, you'll likely have a lot of special days now that you'll be able to see your Miss Caplin. You've got Bruce to thank for that, for he's been going out of his way on a Sunday to take the cart all the way round the top road and
down to the Miss Duckworths, but I won't have that big fella up here, you understand?'
It was some seconds before Jinnie answered, 'Yes, missis, I understand;' but she was brave enough to go on and add, 'But I'd still like to see Max at times; so if you don't mind, some Sundays I'd rather go down.'
' Oh, get about your work, girl!' Rose Shaleman made an impatient movement with her hand and Jinnie turned somewhat sadly from the bed. Her mistress's attitude towards Max dimmed some of the wonder from the happenings of the day, and they had been wonderful,
for hadn't she been able to buy that lovely locket for Miss Caplin, and hadn't the missis bought her thatgolden ribbon? She put her hand up to the back of her head now, where her single plait was pinned flatly against it. She ignored the plait but fingered the hair growing down towards her shoulder. It was growing fast, as Miss Caplin had said it would if she brushed it night and morning, and she did so then and any other spare minute she had, for she'd never feel whole again until she had another plait hanging down her back, at least at night time; but how long that would take she didn't know and even Miss Caplin couldn't tell her.
After a long dry spell it had rained unseasonably for three days and nights and now the whole world seemed sodden. The ground outside the cottage was like a quagmire. The pigs were up to their haunches in glar. The hens were bedraggled and their laying had gone off. Inside the cottage there were lines of old and sodden linen from underwear to top coats stretched across the scullery, and the fire in the kitchen wasn't drawing because the top of the chimney was so damp. Dampness wasn't the word that could be applied to Bruce's condition: having again been soaked to the skin, he was changing into clothes which were still damp. Jinnie was feeling absolutely worn out, not only with the work in general but also with having to contend with the fire to keep it going. And when eventually her frustration caused her to remark, 'It's bad coal this, there's no roundies in it at all,' neither Bruce nor his mother made any comment; although Rose Shaleman wanted to say, 'Have you any idea, girl, what roundies or the best coal cost for a load?' But Bruce began to cough and she said, 'Look, take a drink of hot ginger before you go out, you don't want that cough to hang about. Girl, put the kettle on and make Mister Bruce some hot ginger.'
'I don't want any hot ginger, Ma; I've filled myself with hot ginger these past days, and what good has it done? What I want is a set of dry clothes. And she's right, it's poor coal; but I'll tell you this much, Ma, the next lot I bring up won't be poor: if they ask treble for it, you'll have to stump up.' He turned now and abruptly he said to Jinnie, 'Pour me out a drop of broth.'
His mother's voice was placating now as she said,
'Must you go up there again?'
'Ma' - the word came slowly now, as if he wanted to drum something home - 'they're taking shelter in every nook and cranny. I've got half the number I want down. I've only one pair of legs and one pair of hands and the dog's only got four feet. What's more, when I've got what I want of them down I have to get them ready for market. You're not going to get good money for animals looking like drowned rats. And don't forget what you tend to point out every year; our survival through the winter depends on the August sale; and by the look of what I'm bringing down from the hills tells me that this coming winter's fare will be meagre if it weren't for double the number of your porkers we have this year.'
When she made no remark whatsoever he turned to the table and lifted up the bowl of broth Jinnie had placed there, warming his hands on it before putting it to his mouth and gulping down the contents.
He now pulled on a steaming greatcoat, then his cap, and lastly he took up a hessian sack from the floor, punched one end of it into the other until it formed a hood, which he then pulled on to his head over his cap and went abruptly out again into the driving rain.
Jinnie's body was tired and her mind weary. She had never experienced weather such as this. She didn't recall this kind of weather when she was in the workhouse. If it rained or snowed she had always been dry, sometimes cold, oh yes, often cold, but dry. There was a difference between being cold and dry and cold and wet. But here, by night-time her clothes would be wet, and she would be longing for sleep, only to be brought awake by the feeling of the damp pallet. It seemed years ago since a week on Sunday when Miss Caplin had come up here.
The sun had been shining then, and it had been quite warm; and Miss Caplin had told her the great news that Max had applied to go out to work on a farm.
She had stressed he had no real need to apply, that in fact he was free to go at any time: after all, he wasn't certified and, what's more, he had paid well for his keep with hard work. Anyway, Miss Caplin had taken it upon herself to write to a farmer in Weardale.
His advert had appeared in the newspaper. Apparently he had a hill farm and wanted help but the advert stated that the applicant must be experienced in some form of farming. Miss Caplin had added quietly that she had described Max's impediment and his outsize stature, but added that these were compensated for by his intelligence on the one hand and his colossal strength and appetite for work to be of use on the other. The only disadvantage to Jinnie was that she would see less of him then than she did now.
The air of the room was heavy with the smell of sweat. She put her hand out and supported herself against the iron plate under the mantelshelf. If only it would stop raining and she could get the clothes dry and this room clean. She found the heat from the iron plate comforting to her hand, which was red and swollen. She was about to warm the other one when her mistress's voice brought her upright: ' 'Tis no time for dreaming, girl,' she was saying; 'if you want to be near the fire put the bellows to it; then get another pan of broth ready, because that's the best thing for anybody in this weather, and, if I know anything, Bruce'll be back before long. This is the third day of it and he can't stand much more. He's strong but he's not a horse.'
It was as if her mistress was talking to herself, and apparently she was, for she began muttering and her words became indistinct to Jinnie; in fact, all sounds became indistinct as she prepared the vegetables for the broth. These she scooped by the handful on to the ham bones which had served as the basis for the broth over the last three days. As she did so she thought: back in the house, after they had made the first broth, they used to throw the bones away. There must be nothing left in these, and it came to her that the bones were like herself, there was nothing left in her either. A few days ago when it had been dry and warm she had lain in bed one night and wondered if anything really nice would ever happen to her, and from somewhere
deep within her had come the question: What did she want? What would she like to happen to her in a nice way? to which she could find no answer. Yet there was in her a strange desire, a longing for a little bit of wonder to come her way; but since the rain she had become more convinced that nothing nice would ever happen to her: she'd work in this house until she was old and like her mistress, and every day would be the same. Nothing seemed to change here. The place was enveloped in melancholy and she could see no escape from it.
Such were her thoughts until the clock on the mantelpiece showed six o'clock, and it was almost at that precise moment that the door was pushed open and Bruce staggered in, pressed the door closed, leant against it for a moment, then would have slid down to the floor had not his father, who was coming down the room carrying the empty soup bowl, flung it on the table and pushed himself against his son while crying to Jinnie,
'Give a hand here!'
When, between them, the
y went to place Bruce in a chair and saw immediately there was no way he could support himself, Jinnie cried, 'Lay him on the mat, mister. Lay him on the mat.'
Rose Shaleman was sitting on the edge of the bed now and she called to them, 'Don't let him lie down in those wet things, strip his coats off.'
And this they did, but only after much effort. When they laid him back on the mat his breath was coming in such short gasps that Jinnie imagined he was choking, and, jumping up, she ran to the bed crying, 'I must have a pillow!'
Her mistress almost threw the pillow at her, and when Pug raised his son's shoulders so that Jinnie could place the pillow in position, Bruce began to cough, and such was the tearing sound that Jinnie screwed up her face against it; then it was she who almost choked on a gasping cough as she looked up and saw her mistress hanging on to the edge of the table. She appeared to be so tall, almost as tall as Max, and she too was gasping as she addressed her husband, saying, 'Get him out of those wet trousers, man; and you girl, go up aloft and drop his hap and biscuit bed down and any clothes that you see lying about.'
Jinnie scrambled about in the roof space which, although much bigger than her own, was still cramped, and grabbing up the damp quilt she flung it through the hatch and on to the floor; there followed oddments of clothing, and lastly she dragged the pallet bed to the top of the ladder and slowly eased it down the side. She waited until it fell with a quiet thud on to the floor, then she was almost sliding down the ladder again, only to stop at the bottom: Bruce was lying quite naked and his mother, from a chair pulled to the side of the table, was yelling at her husband, 'Rub him hard! It's no good just drying him, rub him hard, get the blood flowing. Girl!' She had not directly addressed her, but Jinnie, keeping her eyes averted from the prone figure, darted to her side, saying, 'Yes, missis?'
'Pull the bed tick up here, then go and take the top sheet off my bed and pull it over. Be quick!'
The Tinker's Girl Page 11