The Tinker's Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  'Hold on! Wait a minute.' Bruce was holding up his hand. 'What d'you mean, as long as you're here? You'll

  soon be gone.'

  'Not be g-g-gone. Miss Caplin, she write and tttell them, I'm n-n-not going. Circumstances' - he grinned widely now as he nodded his head to imply that that was another big word - 'ch-ch-changed. So all is ...

  v-v-very well.'

  Bruce sat down on a box and he looked up at the big fellow and, slowly shaking his head, said, 'You shouldn't have done that. It was very good of you, more than good, but you know how I'm placed: I can't offer you anything like a wage until the spring, if then. It'll all depend on the market. You're a fool, you know.'

  The change in Max's countenance was evident to both of them and after a moment he said, 'Don't c-c-call me that, Mister Bruce, n-n-not even in fun.'

  'Oh, I'm sorry, Max.' Bruce was standing in front of him now, his hand on the big man's shoulder. 'It wasn't meant that way; it was . . . well--' He moved his head as if searching for a word, and it was Jinnie who put in,

  'Endearment. Yes, Max, it was an endearment, because nobody would ever put that word to you.'

  'Oh yes, Jinnie, many put that word to me; fffool and idiot.'

  'Oh no. What can I say?' said Bruce, apologetically.

  'Well, I know this and I would bet on it; you have more sense and knowledge in your head than three farmers I could name in the valley, not to mention this one standing before you.'

  Max turned away in evident embarrassment, muttering,

  'Everything all r-r-right now, then. So l-l-let's get on with s-s-some work.'

  At this, Jinnie put out a hand and patted Bruce's arm, and she smiled widely, her gesture confirming that, from her point of view, everything would go well from now on.

  13

  'So you're going to do it?'

  'Yes, May; I'm going to do it.' replied Richard.

  'I'm glad.'

  'Strangely, so am I.'

  'And about your painting. Will you go wholeheartedly for that, or into the office, as is being proposed?'

  'Well, what do you think? I'd go mad sitting in an office all day.'

  'But you know what the doctor said about the lead in the paint.'

  'Yes I know, and I agree with him, and lead poisoning is something to be taken very seriously. I had never thought of it before - few painters do, I'm sure. I always thought that when I felt rotten it was due to the aftermath of the fever still hanging about me; and because my heart seemed to be all right, that puzzled me.'

  'Well, I always thought your water colours were superior to your oils, anyway.'

  'Did you?' He smiled at her gratefully, then said, 'But there's something very relaxing, you know, in slapping lumps of paint on canvas, and the beauty of it is you can go over your work again and again, whereas with water colours one splash and it's done. At least' - he nodded at her now - 'this is what all the books tell you: get it down first time clear, otherwise the result will be mud. Well, a short time ago, you know the one I did of the early morning in the forest with the deer coming through the trees and a shaft of sunlight hitting them, I was trying to get that early light mist effect. I didn't get it; and if I went over it again once, I did so ten times, and you've seen the result. You live and learn. Anyway, I'm off into town now to do a bit of shopping.'

  May had been sitting on a couch near the fire and she stood up and, her voice changing, she said, 'You're not going to stop off on your way and attend that funeral, are you, Richard?'

  He was half turned from her, and he didn't answer her for a moment, and when he did he said, 'I've a damn good mind to.'

  'You'll only upset them if you do and everything is going so smoothly. Anyway, you half promised last night.'

  'No, I didn't; I just didn't answer.' He now swung round to her. 'Anyway, Bruce has been my friend for years, so I should show some respect.'

  May shook her head in a show of irritation, then said,

  'All my life, at least, my adult life, I've heard the same arguments between you and them, and I can see their side of it, Richard. If they were prosperous farmers, there would be something to be said for your side of it, but by all accounts they're below ground level.'

  'That's not his fault.'

  'Well, you want things to go smoothly from now on, don't you? They'll accept your position, I know, whether you take up Papa Rowland's offer of a junior partnership or take up your art seriously. I'm just pointing out that they are falling over themselves to meet you halfway.

  They are more than fond of you. And they are not the only ones.' These last words prompted him to go and put his arm around her shoulders and to kiss her, saying, 'And that feeling's reciprocated twofold, May.'

  Then, slightly embarrassed, they broke apart with her saying in quite a motherly fashion, 'Get yourself away.

  Get yourself away; but--' and the sudden appeal in her voice caused him to hesitate as he reached the door-- 'do be a good boy and keep the family peace. And remember there's Lillian now, and she's no longer just Lillian. You mustn't forget that. You know what I mean.'

  His tone was clear and definite when he said, 'Yes, I know what you mean, May.'

  The morning following the funeral, Richard was riding to the farm, when from a distance he could see some activity outside the cottage. He drew his horse to a momentary stop before going on again. To the three people awaiting his arrival he called, 'Why the bonfire?'

  which was giving off thick grey smoke from the flocks of the bed tick and other pieces of bedding. 'You're making a clean sweep?'

  'You could say that,' Bruce said, 'and not before time.

  I think you'd better take the horse along to the shed next to Patsy's stable. They can talk to each other. That's if you're meaning to stay.'

  'No; I'm sorry, Bruce; I've just called to bring these.'

  He indicated the bags hanging over the saddle. 'If you don't mind I'll take them along to the barn, and him with me--' he patted his horse's neck. 'He doesn't like the cold either.' Then, as if just becoming aware of Max and Jinnie, he said, 'Hello! there.'

  It was Max who said, 'M-m-morning, sir.'

  Jinnie, who had been scrubbing a wooden chair, did not respond to his greeting, but she looked up and smiled at him, a smile which seemed to hold him still for a moment. Then jerking the horse forward, he said,

  'Come on. Let's all go into the shelter.'

  He dismounted just inside the barn and hooked the reins over a staple in the wall.

  Then, after taking the bags

  from the saddle, he walked beside Bruce and Max to the far end of the barn and dropped the bags on an upturned box.

  He was about to speak when his attention was caught by Jinnie. She was standing apart. She did not appear her usual chirpy self; her look was pensive; and the thought flashed through his mind that she was beautiful; and it wasn't a childish beauty either, or that of a young girl.

  He had noticed before that her skin still retained its creamy tint of youth; the wind up here had not seemed to mar it, as work had her hands.

  He now took a prettily wrapped parcel and handed it to her, saying, 'Happy Christmas, Jinnie.'

  Quickly, she glanced at Bruce as if for permission to accept the present; then looking back at Richard she took the parcel from him, saying, 'For me?'

  'Yes--' and he looked about him, saying, 'there's no other young lady here, is there, who could wear what's inside that?'

  Then not waiting for her thanks, he drew two more parcels from the first bag and handed one to Bruce and the other to Max.

  Bruce muttered softly, 'Thank you, Richard;' but Max, holding the parcel across both his hands and smiling broadly, said, 'My thanks, s-s-sir. Fffirst present I've had wr-wr-wrapped up ... in my life.'

  'Well, don't keep it wrapped up,' Richard laughed back at him, 'none of you,' he added. And amid laughter each undid his parcel. It was Bruce who first exclaimed and in admiration.

  'Oh my! a real gansey.'

  'We
ll, jersey or gansey,' cried Richard now, 'put it on and see if it fits. If not, I can have it exchanged, so they tell me.'

  'If it doesn't fit,' said Bruce slowly, 'I'd want to keep this just to feel it.' His hands stroked the soft woollen garment. He'd had ganseys before, but not like this one. They had been fisherman's ganseys, made with coarse wool for rough wear.

  All attention was now turned on Max, who was holding a very fine thick tweed waistcoat at arm's length, for such it looked at first glance; although it was a waistcoat with a difference, because it had long, soft leather sleeves and leather buttons to match.

  'That was the largest in the shop, so I can't take it back, Max, and ask for it to be exchanged. You'll just have to lose some weight.'

  Max had risen from the box on which he had been sitting and, walking towards Richard, he put out a hand, his other forearm pressing the waistcoat to him, and almost with a break in his voice he said, 'S-s-sir, I have never seen anything l-l-like it, and I thank you m-m-most warmly.'

  'Oh.' Richard, slightly embarrassed, laughed as he said, 'It's only a waistcoat, but I liked the look of it, as I did Bruce's guernsey.'

  They now all turned and looked at Jinnie, and Bruce exclaimed loudly, 'Haven't you opened it yet?'

  'Yes; I've opened it, but I haven't taken it out of the paper because you two were so busy admiring yourselves.'

  This was greeted with a burst of laughter, and Bruce cried at her, 'Get on with it! you cheeky monkey. All you want is attention . . . well, we're all attention now, so get on with it.'

  Slowly and in amazement she lifted up a fur hood and held it in one hand while the other picked up a pair of fur-lined gloves. She sat gazing down at them for a moment before she lifted her eyes to Richard's. Her lower lip was trembling but she was unable to speak.

  It was a moment before Richard said, 'I had to guess your size ... I mean, with the gloves.'

  No-one spoke while she laid down the gloves and, opening the hood, pulled it on over her head. It had a fine, pink flannel lining which was continued as a tie under her chin, although she didn't make it into a bow.

  She picked up the gloves and drew them on her fingers.

  They were tight at first, but she stroked her fingers in as any lady might, and the three men sat watching her.

  Her attire could have been regarded as grotesque: her feet encased in ugly block-toed working boots, the long, dull grey coat covered with the work-spattered apron, while above it the face with cream-tinted skin enhanced by the long dark lashes of the clear green eyes, all framed in an expensive, brown-fur hood lined with pink flannel, the hands, in the matching gloves, held up now, palm upwards, as if for inspection by the audience.

  As the hands dropped down to her lap and her head slowly bowed, Max was talking in his mind - and with no stammers - if only he had money; his child was so beautiful.

  Bruce's thoughts were revealing in that they held a slight touch of resentment. Richard shouldn't have done that. Such a present was so out of place for her. Just look at her coat and boots. And if she had to have anything in the way of clothing, he was the one who should have provided them for her. Items of that quality would put ideas into her head.

  Looking up at Richard, Jinnie found she still couldn't find any words, although her thoughts were running wild. He was so kind, and he was beautiful; oh yes, so beautiful. Ever since he had lifted her on to his horse she had been unable to get him out of her mind. But then her voice seemed to be forced from her by Bruce saying, 'What's the matter with you? Have you lost your tongue?' And she finally did speak as she continued to look at Richard and said softly, 'Thank you. Thank you so much. They are lovely . . . lovely.'

  It was almost on the tip of Richard's tongue to say,

  'And you're lovely too;' but instead, turning abruptly from her, he picked up the other bag and said, 'Odds and ends of Christmas fare for the table,' and handed it to Bruce.

  It was all Bruce could do to say, 'Thanks. Thanks.'

  For some reason he couldn't quite fathom, this further gift had intensified his resentment.

  They were walking back towards the end of the barn and Richard's horse, the while thanking him again for his kindness, but, as perhaps could have been expected, he did not discount their thanks by saying, 'Oh, it is nothing,' but after taking the horse's reins from the nail, he mounted the animal, then looked down on them and, with a quizzical smile on his face, he said,

  'I've had my own Christmas present, I am engaged to be married to Miss Lillian Rowlands. The wedding is to be next June. It hasn't been made public yet, but I'm telling you because you are my friends.'

  As he turned the horse and left the barn, Richard waved aside the congratulations from the two men, and he did not notice that Jinnie remained silent; but Bruce did, as he also noticed the stricken look on her face. And he thought, Dear God! she surely wouldn't be so silly; not Jinnie. But then she was still a young girl, and all young girls were silly.

  He turned to Max and said, 'Well, that's no surprise.

  It's been hanging fire for a long time. But I don't suppose it will make all that difference to him; except, perhaps, that both families will now have a stronger claim on him, if that's possible ... It says something for being independent, even if you do have a hungry belly.'

  He felt himself almost pushed aside as Jinnie passed him and hurried out on her way to the cottage.

  From the first time she had seen him and had experienced that strange pain in the middle of her chest, she had known that what had entered her head was bin a crazy idea. She might not have seen him for

  weeks or months, but the very sight of him would revive the feeling, bringing it out from its night-time hidden chamber, when the fancy and fantasy would take on a kind of reality. But the reality had today been given real life when he had presented her with this wonderful gift, because for a moment she had imagined that no man would give such a present to a girl he saw only as a maid. He was a gentleman, but with a difference: had he not already made a friend of Bruce, and Bruce was not a gentleman? And so, why not also make a friend or more of her?

  In that fleeting moment it had appeared feasible; whereas now all she could think was, she wanted to die; and immediately she asked herself why she was staying on at this place, because it was awful. One thing was sure: she would not wear his hood and gloves, ever.

  PART TWO

  It was now July 1872 and a great deal had happened since Christmas, on this hill as well as in the valley. Here, at the farm, alterations to the buildings were immediately noticeable.

  In the farmhouse itself, the recess that had held the bed had been extended to make a room as large as the kitchen. It had its own fireplace on the far wall, as well as a loft above, in which a person of normal height could stand up.

  The pig-swill room remained as it was, as did the sty and the barn, although around the corner were two new cow-byres and beyond, a stone building had been converted into a dairy. But these changes seemed insignificant when, on entering the cottage, one found oneself in what was really a thirty-foot room, with a fire and a cooking oven in the kitchen area and with an open fire at the far end, with the whole of the floor space covered either in rope or cocoa matting. The stone walls had been plastered and lime-washed and the two windows, the larger of which was in the extension, both sported brightly patterned cotton curtains. The room was sparsely furnished, but nevertheless there were signs of comfort in the newer part with two worn, chintz-covered armchairs and a backless settle seat placed against the fireside wall. This was four feet long and had a thick, comfortable pad on it. This too was chintz-covered but gave evidence of much wear, being patched at the corners. It had at one time graced another farmhouse kitchen, as had the other odds and ends. But odds and ends or not, they could not at this time have brought more delight to Jinnie had they been pieces worthy of the name of antique.

  The sleeping arrangements, too, had been altered.

  The loft above the new room took two pallet beds comfor
tably, and was shared by Bruce and Max, although Max could not stand up straight in any part of it. However, this did not deter him from appreciating his new quarters.

  As for Bruce, he was glad to have Max's company at night, for he had grown very fond of the big fella.

  What was strange, although Bruce never referred to it, in case by doing so he should check the flow, was that Max's stammering and incoherence was now hardly noticeable. Perhaps it was because the man was happy.

  But in spite of the apparent well-being of the farm, money was still very tight. And yet Bruce would have been content but for one concern. And the name of that was Hal.

  For months now he had tried to prepare himself for his brother's return. Moreover, one thing was sure: whatever had happened to him on his voyages would not have lessened his hatred of either Max or Jinnie.

  Then, there would be the question of the real ownership of the farm, for no matter what his mother might have wished, or indeed expressed, Bruce felt that Hal could legally claim ownership. And the worry had really come to the front and taken on the shape of fear when, two days before, he had heard through Peter Locke that The Admiral was due in.

  Although he had no assurance that Hal was still on this particular boat, nevertheless there was the possibility that he might be, and that once it touched harbour he would make straight for the farm. And so he had thought it wise to put Jinnie and Max in the picture. If things did come to a head, Jinnie could go down to the Miss Duckworths. As for Max, he had already earned himself the name of an excellent handyman, and could easily obtain temporary work elsewhere . . .

  He had been up in the hills for most of the day, and being back in form, he was now blithely running with the dog, his dread almost forgotten in these moments of exhilaration. But, on seeing two figures making their way down from the road to the pond, his dread was overshadowed by a feeling of anger.

  What the hell does he think he's up to! And she, the little bitch, must know what she's doing. I'll have to come into the open with her. I will! he thought.