The Tinker's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  Jinnie was quick, and when the sheet was placed over the tick Rose Shaleman said, 'You got a dryish blanket up there?'

  'Not bad, missis.'

  "Well, fetch it. Go on, quick!'

  It seemed only seconds before she was back in the kitchen, the blanket held in her hands, and her mistress was shouting at her, 'Well, don't stand there with it; get down and wrap him in it.'

  Her master had already wrapped some of the bottom sheet around his son and all she had to do was to lay her blanket hap on top of him; then she was tucking it in all around him.

  Bruce had had his eyes closed most of the time, and now when he opened them he seemed to be looking up into hers and he muttered, 'Drink.'

  And she, scrambling to her feet again, said, 'Yes, Mister Bruce; yes, I'll have you a hot drink in a couple of shakes.' Then of a sudden she stopped, saying, 'But how will I get to the fire, missis?'

  Rose Shaleman didn't say, 'Well, step over him,' but looked down on her son for a moment, then said to her husband, 'Pull the tick towards me at the bottom; leave it so his head and chest are near the grate . . .'

  A half hour passed, and although Bruce had been given another hot ginger drink, and pieces of flannel, wrung out in boiling water, had been placed on his chest, he still showed no improvement, more the reverse.

  Between gasps of racking coughing, he was talking to Mister Richard and using strange words as if he were reciting poetry, between times berating Hal and his father. Rose Shaleman looked at her husband and said,

  'He's bad, he needs a doctor.'

  ' 'Tis just a heavy cold,' said Pug.

  'Heavy cold be damned, man! He's had colds before, but never like this. If pneumonia sets in that'll be the finish of him. Andrew Stevens went the same way in this sort of weather, and he was the same age, so get your coat on and get down to the village or along to the Stevens'. Ask them to send one of the others down to the village or into Allendale, or wherever the doctor is stuffing himself with his high living, because he'll still be at it, if I know anything.'

  'I could never find me way down there: it's coming on dark and me legs wouldn't take me; I'm slithering outside as it is. He'll be all right.'

  'Be damned to you, Pug Shaleman, for a dirty little coward! You always were and you always will be.'

  'All right. All right.' He was yelling at her. 'If I go, who's going to look after him?'

  'The girl can do what has to be done.'

  'It wouldn't be decent, woman, it wouldn't be decent.'

  His wife now stared at him in silence for a moment, her mouth agape, and now in a strange and low voice, she said, 'God above! I can't believe me ears. You! you above all men talk about decency connected with man, woman, or child.' She now gripped the edge of the table and pulled herself round to say to Jinnie, standing wide-eyed, 'D'you know where the Stevens's farm is?'

  'I've never been there, missis, but I've got an idea.

  It's on the road past the pool, and when Mister Bruce' she inclined her head to the heaving figure on the floor - 'when he brought Miss Caplin and me up he pointed down the hill into the valley and said that was where we got our milk from. There was a road went off.'

  'D'you think you could find it?'

  'Aye, missis. Oh aye, I'll find it.'

  'Well, hap up as much as you can, girl, and get away.

  Say to Mrs Stevens I sent you, say that my Bruce is very sick and would she oblige me by sending one of the men for Dr Beattie.'

  'Yes, missis, yes.'

  'Take your clogs off - you'll lose them in the mud before you get halfway down the bank - put your boots on and put a sack on your head, not your hat; your hat's no good the night.'

  Jinnie now dashed into the scullery and up into her loft, and there, grabbing up her coat and her boots, she came down the steps again, put on the coat, slipped out of her clogs and laced up her boots; then from a cupboard, she plucked out a piece of the rough linen she had brought with her from the workhouse and, folding the square crosswise, she put it on her head and tied a knot underneath her plaited coil: she couldn't bear the thought of the dirty hessian sack, when it should become wet, sticking to her hair. Then running into the kitchen, she said, 'I'm off, missis.'

  Her mistress said no word, but gave her a sharp nod.

  Outside, head down, she began to run, past the pigsty and the barn; she then scrambled crabwise up the hill until she reached the rough road. Here the wind was stronger, driving the rain into her face, each drop as cold as an icicle. She tried to run holding the sack well forward over her brow, but this impeded her balance.

  Presently, above the whistling of the wind and the beating of the rain, she thought she heard the neighing of a horse; but on turning and peering back, she could see no sign of one so she stumbled on.

  She had almost reached the place where the road leading to the farm diverged when she was startled out of her wits by the sound of the screeching of wheels, which lifted her into the ditch with fright. She knew she was lying against the bank, her face pressed tight to the earth, and when a hand came on her shoulder and a voice said, 'What on earth are you doing out here, girl?' her mouth went into a gape and she slumped against the wet bank and peered up through her dripping eyelids at Richard BaxtonPowell.

  He had taken hold of her hand and had pulled her on to the road, and again he was asking, 'Why are you out here?'

  'I ... I was going for a doctor, sir.'

  'Oh; is Mrs Shaleman worse?'

  'No.' As she shook her head the sack dropped from her shoulders, and now, seeing that the white cloth she was wearing over her hair was getting soaked, he pulled her towards the carriage door, then almost roughly he put his hand under her oxters, saying, 'Get up there a moment,' only to add quickly, 'Oh, I'm sorry, May; but she's drenched. And anyway, I can't stay out in this.'

  In the dimness of the carriage Jinnie made out the figure of an elegantly dressed young woman who was staring at her none too kindly, and she said, 'I'm sorry, ma'am.'

  'Well, who's ill?' Richard demanded.

  'Bruce. Mister Bruce. He managed to get into the house before collapsing. He's lying by the fire now. He's very bad, sir.'

  'Bruce? But. . . but why were you on this road going for the doctor?'

  'To ask Mr Stevens to send a man for him.'

  'Oh, I see.' He now turned and looked at his sister and explained, 'She's from Bruce's place.' But the reply to this came through tight lips: 'I gather as much; then let her get out of the way.'

  'How can I, May? She's wringing and she's some way to go over those fields to the farm. Look, I'll drop you

  home, then go and pick up the doctor. It's as little as I can do.'

  'I think I've heard that phrase before with regard to the person in question. And I don't have to remind you that if you don't get back to the Rowlands' for dinner, Mother'll have something to say to you, more than she has already, and that's not to mention Father, with regard to that abode. To my mind this whole thing is becoming a bone of contention; a debt is a debt but once it's paid, it's done with.'

  'Shut up!' The words were softly said but nevertheless uttered emphatically, and Jinnie realised that this gentleman's continued association with Bruce must be causing much trouble at The Manor, and so, quickly, she put in, 'Look, sir; I know me way and once I get off the road I'll soon cover that field,' and she put her hand out to open the door. But his voice stayed her. 'Sit where you are,' he said, not in a kindly tone, but in one of command. Then he pulled down the window and shouted to the driver, 'Tim! Make for The House. We'll drop Miss May off; then we'll drive to the village to pick up the doctor.'

  'As you say, Mister Richard. As you say.'

  The words seemed to be wafted into the carriage on a gust of wind; then the window was closed and Jinnie found herself jolted back in the seat; and as the carriage moved on she remembered the sack and was about to remark that she mustn't leave it behind, when she thought the better of it.

  The young lady was muttering so
mething but the noise of the carriage wheels blotted out the words until her voice rose and she said, 'You'll go too far one of these days; Father won't stand for it.'

  There was no answer forthcoming but Jinnie could see that Mister Richard had thrown one leg over the other, which she took as a sign of him being annoyed.

  Presently, she felt the slowing down of the carriage and when it seemed to turn she was jolted again; then the horses trotted a short way before they stopped, and Mister Richard, opening the door, said to her, 'Stay where you are.' Then he held out his hand to help his sister alight; and Jinnie had been quick to note that the young woman made sure that her cloak and dress did not come in contact with her own long and sodden coat.

  Left alone, she looked through the window and saw in the light of a bright lantern a flight of steps leading to the house, and a man dressed in a green breeches suit holding an umbrella over the young lady as she mounted the steps.

  Now Mister Richard was shouting up to the driver:

  'Turn them round, Tim; I won't be long.'

  Although it was only five minutes before Mister Richard reappeared, to Jinnie it had seemed an age, and she felt she could have reached the farm by now.

  'We needn't go as far as Allendale,' Richard was calling up to the driver. 'I understand we might find him in the village; he left here only half an hour ago.'

  The door was pulled open now, and then he was sitting opposite her in the grey light and she was experiencing the most odd sensation and recalling how, only last night, she had lain in bed and asked herself if anything wonderful or even just nice would ever happen to her, and here she was riding in a carriage with a gentleman sitting opposite her. She was no longer feeling wet or sodden; in fact, her body was experiencing a warm glow. Mister Richard was nice, he was kind; in a way he wasn't unlike Mister Bruce, only Mister Bruce wasn't so polite as Mister Richard, nor did he look so smart; and he hadn't the same accent. Well, he wouldn't have. And yet he didn't speak rough. Oh no; it was surprising that Mister Bruce didn't speak rough, not like Mister Hal or his father. And sitting there musing and half asleep she thought, well, wasn't it wonderful to know three nice men. Max of course would always come first, then Mister Bruce, and now Mister Richard.

  The swaying of the carriage was like being rocked in a cradle, she imagined. She felt comfortable and warm and so tired. She wasn't actually aware of the carriage stopping, and so when she opened her eyes and heard no sound about her, she closed them again.

  It was some time later when she jerked them wide to the sound of a strange voice saying, 'Why d'you concern yourself? They are scum up there.'

  'They are human beings in need and you're a doctor.'

  'Look, Mister Richard; if it wasn't who you are, and I have great respect for your father and your lady mother, I would tell you where you could go to at this minute, and that lot up there too, but as it is, I'm not taking my horse and trap out this night. If you take me up you'll bring me back.'

  'That's agreed. Well, then, will you get in or d'you want us both drenched?'

  That the doctor was surprised to drop on to a seat opposite a white-faced girl with a plait over one shoulder in tangled disarray and with a white cloth hanging round her neck, was putting it mildly; and his eyes travelled down her greatcoat to where it was dripping water on to her boots.

  Richard had taken his seat when the doctor demanded, 'Who's that?'

  'She's the little maid from up there.'

  'A maid up there? Who would stay up there? A maid?'

  'Yes, you've said it, doctor, who would stay up there?

  She's been up there for some months now. And if I remember, and Bruce is right, it's two years or more since you last visited the place, and all you did was leave tablets.'

  'What more could anybody do? She's on her last legs.

  She has been for years now; I'm surprised she's still here.

  She'll go out like a light one day.'

  'Yes, she'll go out like a light one day.'

  The doctor's voice rose above the grinding of the wheels and the horses' hooves as he cried, 'Don't take that attitude with me, Mister Richard. I know these people better than you do.'

  'That you do not, doctor; at least not one of them.'

  'Oh, we're on about the saving of life again. That kind of thing's happening every day, and the debt doesn't go on for ever. If a man is rescued by a cannibal it doesn't mean that he can let the cannibal eat him by way of thanks.'

  Jinnie was very wide awake now and aware once again that she was at the centre of trouble; but then she heard Mister Richard laugh as he said, 'That's a very good simile, doctor. Indeed, I must remember it.'

  There followed a silence apart from the noise of the vehicle; then, as if the conversation had never been interrupted, and in a more moderate tone, the doctor said, 'You know, Mister Richard, people can't understand you running the hills with young Shaleman.'

  Mister Richard did not reply, and a silence again seemed to weigh on Jinnie, making the journey seem never-ending. And the silence wasn't broken until the driver shouted, 'Whoa there!' and she realised that they had reached the cottage.

  Jinnie sat still until the doctor had descended from the carriage, and then she was checked from alighting herself by Mister Richard's voice calling to the driver:

  'There's a barn further along, Tim; see if it will give the horses a bit of shelter until we are ready.'

  When the man replied, 'Yes, sir,' Jinnie imagined that the carriage was about to move on, and so, seeming to decline the outstretched hand, she jumped.

  Unfortunately her feet landed in a pool of muddy water which sprayed over the legs of both the doctor and Richard, and the older man cried at her, 'You stupid girl! Look what you've done,' as he pulled off a glove and whacked the front of his trousers back and forth.

  Jinnie looked at Mister Richard's legs. His trousers were of some dark material and his shoes made of a fine leather and they too were bespattered with the muddy water. Again she heard that long intake of breath.

  She ran to the cottage and thrust it open; and although she was used to it, the stench of wet clothes and body odours hit her like a wave. Her mistress was still sitting in the chair, bent over, with her hand on her son's head, while her husband was bathing Bruce's chest with a piece of hot flannel.

  'What's this? What's this?'

  At the words, Pug Shaleman jerked round, and his wife said curtly, 'Well, doctor, you can see for yourself, if you look closer: he's in a bad way.' She had never liked the man: she would never have sent for him for herself, and it must be all of two years since he was last up here. 'He can't last like this, his chest is bursting,' she added.

  The doctor dropped his bag on to the table. He had not removed either his tall hat or his overcoat, because he could see nowhere suitable to lay them; then he went

  towards the hearth, where first of all he touched Pug with the toe of his shoe, saying, ' Get up out of that, man,' then, turning to Rose, said, 'and move back, woman.'

  He did not kneel down but dropped on to his hunkers and, lifting Bruce's hand, he felt his pulse, after which

  he turned and looked up at Richard, saying, 'Hand me my bag, please,' and having been given it, hesitated whether or not to put it on the floor. He finally did; and extracted from it a stethoscope and began to sound Bruce's chest. After a moment he returned the instrument to his bag; then to no-one in particular he said, 'Pneumonia. What he'll need is a cage.'

  'A cage?'

  He straightened up and looked at the woman of this place, as he thought of her, and said, 'Yes, Mrs Shaleman, a cage over his head and chest to keep in steam.'

  'Oh, that. Well, we can soon fix that up.'

  'I'm glad to hear you say so. It's a pity you didn't think of it before. Also, it's a pity he hadn't seen to his own condition before, for I should imagine he's been like this for some time. And I must tell you plainly, if he gets through tonight he'll be lucky.' He lifted his bag and replaced it on the table, and fro
m a small cardboard box he took ten tablets and placed these on the table in single file, saying, 'If he should need them you will see that he takes two a day.' Then after a moment he said, 'There's nothing more I can do. It's up to God and a steam kettle of sorts now. And, mind, he'll need constant attention all night. Where's your other son?'

  He was now addressing Pug, who answered him in almost a growl. 'At sea,' he said.

  'Oh well, that only leaves you and--' He paused before his gaze fell on Jinnie again, and to her he said abruptly, 'You'll have to keep awake or take turns; it's up to both of you now; I can do no more. And as for you, Mrs Shaleman, I'd advise you to get back into bed before you need a night watch too; you're only a hindrance where you're sitting. You know that, don't you? That chair you're on will probably be needed to help make the tent.'

  He now picked up his bag and made for the door, saying to Richard, 'We'll be on our way. I had to break an evening's engagement for this, so you'll oblige me by getting me back as quickly as possible.'

  Richard stood for a moment and looked from one to the other in the room: to the mother of his friend, then to the undersized father, then to the girl, that slip of a girl, and lastly he looked down on to his friend before turning abruptly and following the doctor out.

  He had not uttered a word since he had first entered the room.

  If Mrs Rowland was annoyed by the fact that her future son-in-law - which state was not yet known to the man in question - carried his charitableness to exaggerated lengths she showed no hint of it; in fact, she welcomed him in as she always had done, giving not the slightest indication that she had noticed his bespattered trousers and shoes. Her daughter took after her, for Lillian greeted him, in the hall with a low tinkling laugh as she said, 'You're very wise to make it late, Richard; Miss Bristow and Mr Williams have finished their duet, and Colonel Falconer has gone over his army exploits yet again.

  Anyway, we have held dinner until you should arrive home. Your mother and May are in the drawing room, but your father has escaped with mine to the smoke-room.'

  Lillian Rowland was nineteen years old. She was plump and pretty and, like her parents, a Christian of the highest standard. Like her parents, too, she had never missed Mass and she believed firmly in life everlasting, of course as she had known it on earth, and that all this was guaranteed to her through the Church.