The Tinker's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  The affinity between the Rowlands and the BaxtonPowells was close in all ways, for were not the

  Baxton-Powells High Church; in fact, so high that as far as they themselves were concerned, there seemed to be little difference between the two denominations, certainly no impediment in the coming together of the daughter of the one house and the son of the other? The parents of both these young people were agreed on this.

  If the matter of marriage had still to be voiced it was certainly understood by all concerned.

  The dinner, as usual, was excellent, perhaps made more so by the fact that, although religion played a

  great part in the life of the Rowlands, it didn't mean that it was fortified only by ethereal spirit, oh no; Mr Rowland enjoyed his whisky, Mrs Rowland was partial to port; and as for Lillian, she loved sherry; but of course, none of these natural tastes was indulged in during Lent. Later, it was agreed that the whole evening had been so very enjoyable.

  When it came to Richard saying goodbye, he kissed Lillian on the cheek, and she returned the kiss in the same way; then linking her arm in his, she walked with him down the steps. The rain had stopped and there was a full moon, the light from which was outdoing the lanterns.

  When the carriage door had closed on Richard, Lillian called through the window, 'Will you be at the Wisdons'

  tomorrow, May?'

  'No; I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you, Lillian, we are going by train into Newcastle tomorrow.'

  'Oh, how exciting. We'll have to make up a party one day and all go in.'

  'Yes; yes, we will.'

  The goodbyes flowed back and forth now; then the carriage moved away, Richard pushed up the window, then lay back against the leather headrest and waited for the reprimand. But it was not forthcoming until they reached the house, when it was very brief: 'I will see you in the morning, sir,' Mr Baxton-Powell informed his son, and without waiting for a reply, ushered his wife away hastily up the stairs.

  However, May seemed to be determined to express her feelings, for after handing her cape and hat to the manservant, she said, and in a polite tone, 'Can you spare me a moment, Richard?'

  Richard followed and, after closing the door behind him, was greeted with: 'You know, you won't get away with it this time; Father really is wild.'

  'Away with what, May?' His voice sounded tired.

  'Your escapade tonight, playing the good Samaritan.'

  'No; I won't get away with it, not if you grow expansive on the matter.'

  'I won't have to; they must have drawn conclusions from your clothes; as no doubt did Lillian and her dear mama, not to say her father. I bet he's over here tomorrow to see Father, determined to get to the bottom of it, and why you should be so concerned for that dirty little brat of a girl. And they've always objected to your running the hills with that fellow up there. You know that. They would accept your running with Tim for he is a household servant, but not when you take up with a person who isn't even a farmer. As I understand it, they live up there like prehistoric animals.'

  'Yes, they do live like prehistoric animals, May; you don't know you're born. A flick of fate and you could be that young girl up there living in that stinking hole; and it is stinking. I hold out no excuses for the father, for he's twisted in mind and body, and the mother is not far behind him, but that's been through illness; and her elder son has always been a drunken bully; but Bruce is a different kettle of fish altogether. I don't know how he came to be bred of them, because he's a highly intelligent fellow, and something of a poet too.'

  'A what?'

  'I said he is a poet, and I mean a poet: he can hardly write, but he can turn his own thought into magic lines. I, too, have a love for life, for the open spaces, for the beauty of nature and for lovely things, and I would know nothing about them at this moment if it hadn't been for Bruce Shaleman. He saved my life at the risk of his own, and no matter what you or Mother or Father say, or anyone else, I owe him the debt of my life, and this knowledge didn't come instantly, I can tell you. It came when I was lying on my back for a year and I recognized taste, smell, touch and sight in a way that I'd never done before, and all through his visits during that period.

  And it was he who got me on my feet again; nobody expected me to walk. And, also, I had lain in that gully expecting to die and go into nothingness, yes, nothingness, not heaven with a halo waiting for me as they would have had me believe.'

  'Oh, Richard,' May's voice was a plea now, 'please don't turn away from your religion, too; it would break their hearts.'

  After a moment he said quietly, 'No, I won't turn away, I'll play the hypocrite, as I've been doing for some time now, because between you and me, May, I don't believe a damn word of it, all the gospels, all the preaching.'

  'Oh, Richard.' Her voice came as a beseeching whisper and he went and sat beside her. Putting an arm around her shoulder, he said, 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry, May. I don't want to distress you, but as a result of that accident that's how I feel. You know, during that year I lay on my back, I seem to have lost all my youth; I have never felt young since. And I know I've got to face up to myself. My body isn't strong because of this chest business, and I take the easier way out because I can't bear hurting people.'

  She now patted his hand and said, 'I'm sorry I went for you, but I do love you, Richard, and I am concerned for you.' And she added, 'But I would ask you to keep the better side of your nature to the fore, and don't hurt the parents,' in reply to which, he smiled at her, saying, 'What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over, so I'll practise my hypocrisy.'

  Timothy Riley was what was known in the BaxtonPowell family as an all-rounder, although mainly he was Master Richard's man. His parents had died in the Baxton-Powells' service. They were both elderly when he was born and they had occupied what was known as the Back Lodge Cottage. The cottage had once been a farmhouse and so had stables attached, and even now the every-day carriage and two horses were stabled there.

  George Mather, the main carriage driver, had also suffered badly from the wet weather, and he had been ordered to bed with a severe cold. Tim had been detailed to pick up Master Richard and Miss May from the station at Haydon Bridge. It was part of his duties to see to Master Richard's wants last thing at night and first thing in the morning, but on this night he was detailed to help the yard man rub down and bed the animals and dry off the main carriage so that its high varnish would not be marked with dried raindrops.

  Knowing this, Richard had told Riley not to bother with him; he would see to himself. He had given this order in the hearing of his father, but had then made his way to the yard through the side-door, calling Tim aside and giving him a new order, which was to go to his cottage but not to retire to bed until he returned.

  Timothy Riley had ceased to be surprised at anything his young master said or did, and because he considered that most of what Richard did was right, he felt no strain in sitting up awaiting his arrival.

  His fire was burning brightly, his pipe was drawing well, and he had just stuck the poker into a mug of beer when a knock came on the door. Jumping up, he immediately opened it and for a moment showed some surprise to see how his young master was dressed, for he was wearing high boots and a large cape over his topcoat, with an earflap cap on his head.

  'Have you any spare sheets, Tim?'

  'Sheets, Master Richard, bedsheets?'

  'Yes, of course: bed-sheets, and what goes with them, pillow-cases and towels.'

  'Well, yes, yes,' he said, somewhat bemused; 'there's a drawer full of them in the next room. They never cleared them after Dad died, and I've got my own share, which are changed every week, top and bottom. At least, they give them to me to change.'

  'Tim - ' Richard's voice held a note of impatience as he said, 'I want two pairs of sheets, pillowcases, some towels and any food that you've got to spare, and now.'

  After one keen glance at his master, Tim hurried out of the room, to return shortly with four sheets, four pillow-cases and three t
owels. These he dropped on to the table and, placing his hands flat on them, he looked at Richard and said earnestly, 'You're not going back up there the night, sir, surely? It's killing out.'

  'No such thing; the moon's shining and it's drying up quickly. Anyway, since you ask, that is where I'm going.'

  'Well, if you're going, I'm goin' an' all.'

  'Oh no, you're not! I'll have enough trouble crossing country myself without looking after you. You know you hate walking, at least on the hills.'

  'I've done it afore with you, sir.'

  'Well, you're not doing it tonight. Now look, have you any spare food?'

  'What kind, sir, meat, milk?'

  'Anything.'

  Tim pulled open the cupboard door to show three shelves well stocked with bread, butter, meat pies and bottled fruit, and standing on the front of one shelf was a meat dish holding the remains of a piece of sirloin.

  Lifting this up, Tim said, 'The only real meat I have is that, sir; and Cook gave it to me for Betsy, but I thought I should keep it. There's a nice bit on it.'

  'Well, cut if off then, wrap it up in a handkerchief and give me whatever else you have in there: butter, tea, sugar, and cheese, et cetera. I'll see it's all replaced later.'

  This Tim did; but all the while shaking his head, and saying, 'You'll not get this lot up there yourself.'

  'You've never seen me pack a knapsack. Wrap them up singly so the sugar won't spill.' And Richard added,

  'Don't worry about losing your handkerchiefs, there's plenty more. You know where they are. Now, let me see.' He unrolled the canvas bag he had brought with him; then spreading the sheets, pillow cases and towels on the bottom, he laid the food on top; then before he went to pull the flap over, he said, 'There's nothing else you've got to spare, I suppose?'

  'No; no, sir. The only things you haven't got are eggs; and they've got plenty up there, I should imagine, but no milk.'

  'Milk? Dear, dear! But I can't carry milk.'

  'Tell you what, sir. I've got a couple of tins of condensed milk in the back here. I never use it 'cos it's sweet like. It's got sugar in. You have to dilute it.'

  'Let's have them, Tim.'

  When the knapsack was strapped up, Tim said dolefully, 'If it starts raining, sir, all that stuff could get sodden long before you get there.'

  'Not the way I mean to carry it, Tim,' and at this he unclasped the neck of his cloak, saying, 'Give me a heave up on to my back with it.' He slipped his arms through the straps, then pulled on his cloak again, saying, 'This is mackintosh, so nothing'll get through it. It never has. I often bless Mr Macintosh. Now, listen, Tim. I'll be back about seven. Get a bath ready for about then. See to my room; I mean, remake the bed and so on, as usual, and lay my striped serge out for tomorrow. We are due to go into Newcastle.' He had nearly forgotten about this arrangement, which he had meant to get out of, but he had the feeling that if he complied willingly, it might take the edge off his father's tongue in the morning.

  'Sure you'll be all right, sir?'

  'Tim, how many times before have you let me out of the side door on nights like this; even on occasions dropped me from the window? Do you remember the time it was on to the conservatory roof? My hat! It was a miracle I didn't go through, but I slid down like an eel on to the ground and was away.'

  'Yes, sir, and left me with my heart in my mouth.

  But this night is different. The ground is still sodden; there'll be gullies full of water, and you can never trust a moon like that. Anyway, be careful. And, sir, let me ask you not to cut across country, but to keep as much to the high road as you can. It's not much further, and it'll be safer in the long run.'

  Richard paused a moment, then nodded at his man, saying, 'Yes, you're right, Tim. All right, I'll do as you advise. Be seeing you in the morning.'

  Tim pulled open the door and Richard edged his way outside. Then, humping the load further on to his shoulders, he hurried away. And Tim, his head shaking, watched until he had disappeared from sight.

  The sweat was streaming down the faces of both of them: Pug Shaleman had taken off his shirt and vest and was standing in his trousers; Jinnie's apron had long been discarded and the front of her print dress was unbuttoned almost down to the curve of her breasts.

  Her underclothes were sticking to her; she had even discarded her stockings and clogs. For the countless time she took the steaming kettle from Pug's hand and refilled the two basins under the blanket that was covering the chairs, and whisked it back and forth above Brace's chest.

  The skin on his chest was scarlet, as was that on his face. Whether what little steam that came from the basins was doing him any good could not be known for he was still gasping for breath. At times his coughing would bring him up from the floor.

  It was about one o'clock when his mother, pulling the blanket aside, looked through the bars of the chairs down on her son and, knowing that he could not last much longer in this condition, dragged herself from the chair and went back to her bed, where she lay staring at the ceiling.

  When her husband came to her side and, wiping the sweat from his face with his forearm, croaked, 'He can't last,' she answered quietly, 'I know.'

  'I've done all I can.' His tone was apologetic, and she answered again, 'Aye, I know;' but when he added,

  'I'm beat meself. I don't know how much longer I can stick on me legs,' her voice was curt as she said,

  'You'll stick on your legs till he goes,' and at this he turned away from her to go back to the fireplace and assist Jinnie by once again lifting a kettle from the fire and handing it to her . . .

  When the door was thrust open and a big humped figure appeared, the cry Rose Shaleman let out drowned those of her husband and Jinnie, for it was as if the black-cloaked figure was the devil.

  'Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should have knocked, but I didn't want to disturb anybody.' Richard's voice trailed away and he looked from where Rose had slumped back into her pillows to Pug Shaleman, kneeling bent forward, his hand covering his face; and as for Jinnie, having just refilled the two basins, she had just dropped the kettle, luckily with only a little water still in it, but enough to splash on her arm, causing her to cry out again.

  Richard had thrown off his cap and cloak and lowered the knapsack on to the table and dropped into a chair, saying, 'How is he?'

  It was Rose Shaleman who answered, 'Bad, sir; very bad. I don't think he can last much longer.'

  Richard left the table and, kneeling by the chairs, he threw off the blanket; and when he saw the condition of Bruce's upper body and face he cringed inwardly and bit tight on his lip. Then in a voice of authority, he said,

  'He's had enough of this; take all this stuff away. Then you, girl, empty that knapsack and get me the sheets and towels.'

  When the towels were put in his hand, he took the softest and began gently to dry Bruce's face and upper body. Presently, he said, 'Take out a sheet and hold it before the fire,' and it was Pug Shaleman who obeyed this order.

  Then, to Jinnie's amazement, Richard said, 'Have you got a tin opener?' and when she replied, 'Yes; yes, sir,'

  he ordered briskly, 'Open a tin of condensed milk, put four spoonfuls into a mug and fill it three parts with boiling water, then bring it here.'

  She obeyed these orders exactly and when she brought it to him he rose to his knees, took off his overcoat, then drew out a small silver-topped flask from an inside pocket and, unscrewing the top, poured a good measure of brandy into the hot milk. He then knelt down by Bruce's head and, slipping an arm under his shoulders, he gently raised him, saying, 'Come on, fellow, drink this.'

  Bruce's parched lips made no movement to sip' and when Richard poured a little of the milk into his mouth it immediately caused a bout of coughing. At this, Richard handed the mug back to Jinnie and, taking the towel again, he began to massage the upper part of Bruce's chest.

  It wasn't until the fourth attempt that Bruce could swallow the milk laced with the brandy, after which Richard said to
Pug, 'Help me to turn him over and get this wet sheet off him. And you, girl, put the dry one in a roll and push it underneath him from yon side, understand?'

  'Yes, sir, mister;' and although she said she understood what was required of her, she tried to keep her gaze away from the naked body she was handling.

  This was the second time she had looked upon Bruce's naked body, and the sight was disturbing her. However, the business was soon over, and Bruce was not only lying in dry sheets, but also his breathing seemed a little easier. The damp blanket Richard threw to one side and said, 'Pass me my greatcoat.' This he placed over the sheets; then swinging round, he pulled his cape from the chair and laid this half-way up Bruce's body, so that it could be tucked under his feet. Then taking up the softest towel of the three, he again began to wipe Bruce's swollen and contorted face.

  For a time there was only the sound of the agonized breathing in the room, that is until Pug, who had been sitting at yon side of the fireplace, fell on to his side and awoke with a start, saying, 'I'm sorry but I'm . . . well, I feel all in.'

  'Yes, you're bound to,' said Richard. 'I would go to bed: there's nothing you can do for some hours yet. I'll call you if necessary.'

  He stood up and looked towards the bed, saying, 'I'd advise you to do the same, Mrs Shaleman. Once the fever reaches its height, I'll let you know.'

  'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

  Richard now turned his head away, partly with embarrassment and disgust, when he saw the small man crawling over his wife to the far side of the bed.

  Then he looked at the slim girl hanging a thin blanket on the rod. She had to double it so that it would not cut out the heat from the fire; and bending down to her, he said,

  'I'm going to sit here' - he pointed to a chair that was near Bruce's head - 'Would you like to go to bed?'