The Feast

by Margaret Kennedy

  ‘Her back is hurting,’ said Beatrix.

  ‘Walking is good for it.’

  Blanche broke into a lopsided trot, helped along by her sisters. Their errand did not interest them for it was unlikely that they would eat any of the sweets thus promptly secured. Their mother had a habit of saving such things for a rainy day which never dawned. But they knew how important it was to possess goods which other people would be likely to want, since value depends upon scarcity.

  At the top of the hill, just by Bethesda, Mrs. Cove paused for a moment to give final instructions:

  ‘We’d better split up. If we all go into the same shop they might see we were one family and make us take a mixed selection. I believe there are several shops. Blanche! You go along Marine Parade. Beatrix can do Church Street. I’ll do Fore Street. Maud can do Market Street. Here is half a crown for each of you, in case you can get turkish delight. Go for that if you can; it’s very scarce. If not, get marshmallows or fudge. Don’t get boiled sweets or bars; there are always plenty of those. And if there’s any nonsense about not selling to visitors tell them that you will report it to the Food Office. We’ll all meet outside the Post Office in half an hour.’

  They separated and Mrs. Cove hurried down to Fore Street. But Blanche’s back had delayed them, and they were not first in the shops as she had intended. There was a considerable queue in the largest confectioners. She joined it and took her place just behind Robin Siddal and Sir Henry Gifford.

  ‘You’re early,’ she said sourly, when they greeted her.

  ‘I’m after marshmallows,’ said Gifford. ‘My wife charged me to get her some before they all disappear. They’ve got some here, I see.’

  ‘I want butterscotch,’ said Robin. ‘There’s none on the Parade. I saw Blanche there, Mrs. Cove, and she wants to know if she and the other girls can come with me to see a ship in a bottle that I told her about. I said if I saw you I’d ask.’

  ‘Where is it?’ asked Mrs. Cove.

  ‘In a cottage, just off the harbour. It’s Nancibel’s great grandmother’s, as a matter of fact. She’s got a lot of interesting old things.’

  Mrs. Cove pondered and then said, rather grudgingly, that the girls might go if they liked; but they must be back at Pendizack by lunch time.

  ‘She’s a very old woman,’ said Robin, turning to Sir Henry, ‘and almost blind and they think she ought to go to the workhouse. She’s awfully upset about it. They all are. But there’s no room for her at the Thomas’s, and she needs to be looked after. I can’t help wondering if some of her old things mightn’t bring in a bit—enough to keep her more comfortably. Do you, sir, by any chance, know anything about black amber? You said you liked amber yesterday.’

  ‘I know a little about it,’ said Sir Henry cautiously. ‘It’s very rare.’

  ‘I think she has a piece. Her sailor son brought it home, ages ago. He’s been dead for years. He got it somewhere out in the East.’

  ‘What is it like?’ asked Sir Henry.

  ‘A little carved figure, so big,’ said Robin, holding his fingers about four inches apart. ‘It looks and feels like amber to me. She has it sitting on the dresser.’

  ‘But that would be worth at least a thousand pounds!’

  ‘I know. I know black amber is very valuable. If it was, she needn’t go to the workhouse.’

  The queue moved up, but neither Robin nor Sir Henry noticed this. Mrs. Cove waited for a few seconds and then took the vacant place in front of them.

  ‘I didn’t tell her what I thought,’ said Robin; ‘I don’t want to raise her hopes. But I would like to get an expert to look at it.’

  ‘I should think it’s extremely unlikely,’ said Sir Henry.

  ‘I expect so. But it would be just worth finding out, and I don’t know who to ask.’

  ‘I could look at it,’ volunteered Sir Henry. ‘If that would be any help.’

  ‘Oh, sir! Would you?’

  The queue moved again, and Mrs. Cove took her place at the counter.

  ‘Marshmallows,’ she said firmly.

  Sir Henry and Robin looked round, surprised, wondering how she could have got in front of them. But they realized that it had been their own fault.

  ‘And if, by any chance, you’re right,’ said Sir Henry,

  ‘I could help her to sell it and see that she got a fair price.’

  ‘I say, that’s frightfully good of you. I’m going there this morning. Could you come?’

  ‘No. I can’t now. My wife expects me back. But I’ll go with you some other day if you like.’

  The queue moved again and it was Sir Henry’s turn. But he could not get marshmallows, for Mrs. Cove had just bought the last. He bought nougat and Robin got his butterscotch.

  ‘That was a mean trick,’ said Robin, as they went out of the shop. ‘She pushed in front of us. Did you see?’

  ‘We let her. You know, if I were you I shouldn’t talk about that piece of black amber, if it is black amber, quite so publicly. Not in a Porthmerryn shop. Anybody might hear. And the sooner it’s put away safely, the better. Can’t you drop her just a hint to look after it carefully?’

  ‘I don’t want to disappoint her, in case I’m mistaken.’

  ‘Tell her it might be worth five pounds. It would probably fetch that, whatever it is. And get her to put it away.’

  Robin agreed to do this, and they parted. He did a few errands for his mother and then went to the Post Office where the three little girls were waiting for him. They said that their mother had gone home and that they all wanted to see the ship in the bottle.

  ‘Come along, then,’ said Robin. ‘Have some butterscotch.’

  He proffered a paper bag. But they all shook their heads, explaining, as usual, that they had none to give him back.

  ‘None?’ he exclaimed. ‘But you’ve all been buying sweets, haven’t you?’

  ‘Our mother has them,’ explained Beatrix.

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, have some of mine, anyway.’

  Eventually they each accepted a small piece, without much enthusiasm. They would so much rather have dispensed bounty than accepted it. Had they been allowed to keep their sweets they would have run round Porthmerryn offering a free treat to everybody.

  Robin conducted them towards the harbour by a side street, for he was not anxious to meet any of his cronies while he had these queer girls tailing after him. At moments he was astonished at himself for embarking on such an expedition, for he did not usually take notice of any little girls between the ages of seven and seventeen, and these were singularly lacking in charm. But the smiles of Blanche had involved him. She had such a radiant expression, when pleased, that it was impossible not to go on pleasing her. She had been gazing, in the purest delight, at some cheap little mass-produced boats in bottles, in a shop on the Parade. This delight had soared to ecstasy when he told her about old Mrs. Pearce’s boat. She was all radiance, all gratitude to him, merely because he had described it. Before he knew what he was saying, he had offered to show it to her, some day, and this offer so plainly carried her into the sixth heaven that he felt compelled to unlock the seventh and suggested they should go immediately.

  ‘This boat,’ he told them, ‘might be a hundred and fifty years old, for it was made by Mrs. Pearce’s grandfather. It’s a five-masted schooner and it’s in a long, thin bottle, not a fat one like the imitation ones. Here we are. Up these steps.’

  The stone steps led to a green door on the upper floor, for the lower part of the house was a fish store. Robin knocked at the door, which was open, and ushered them into a room full of furniture, potted ferns and cats. Nancibel’s great-grandmother, a tiny old woman, was rustling and poking about on the hearth. She turned to look at them, rubbing her bleared eyes.

  ‘It’s Robin Siddal,’ he shouted. ‘I’ve brought three young ladies to look at your ship, Mrs. Pearce. May they see it?’

  Mrs. Pearce chewed upon this news for some time and asked if it was the young ladies up to Treg
oylan.

  ‘No. No. They’re from London.’

  ‘London? I don’t see so well as I used. The maids from Tregoylan, they come sometimes. But I don’t expect them in August month. London?’

  Blanche moved forward and put her hand into the gnarled old fingers.

  ‘I’m Blanche Cove,’ she said, low but clearly. ‘And these are my sisters, Maud and Beatrix. We are staying at Pendizack with Mrs. Siddal.’

  ‘Staying to Pendizack, are ee? That’s a whisht old place, Pendizack Manor. My grandson, Barny Thomas, he lives up to St. Sody Church Town. But I don’t get up there now. Not since my old leg swole up so bad. Sit down, m’dears. You, Robin! Find chairs for the maids.’

  The whole party sat down. Robin was struck by the good manners of the Coves who said no more about the ship though their eyes often strayed towards it, where it stood on the mantelshelf, as they made polite enquiries after Mrs. Pearce’s leg. After a time he explained the real object of the visit and this time the old woman took it in.

  ‘My ship? Oh my dear soul yes. The maids shall see it. Give it into my hand now. You know where it is? Over the slab?’

  He gave it to her and she held it out for them to admire.

  ‘This little old ship,’ she told them, ‘have been on that very same shelf since the time you see written in the bottle. If you look sharp and close you’ll see a name wrote: Phineas Pearce. Which is the name, m’dears, of my old grandfather. And after the name you’ll see figures: one, seven, nine, five—seventeen hundred and ninety-five, which is the figures for the year the ship was made….’

  Robin had heard this recital many times, and he strolled away to the dresser to have another look at the piece of black amber. He had seen it last on the second shelf, standing next to the bottle of ink. But it was not there now.

  ‘There wasn’t no Marine Parade in them days,’ Mrs. Pearce was saying, ‘nor there wasn’t in my young days neither. It was wholly a pull up for pilchard boats …’

  ‘Mrs. Pearce,’ he broke in,’ where’s the little black figure? The one that stood on the dresser?’

  ‘Inside the tureen,’ said Mrs. Pearce. ‘I put ’un there for safety when I were dusting.’

  He looked in the tureen and found it. His heart stopped pounding.

  ‘Why,’ she went on, ‘I saw the railway come. I saw the first train that come to our town and the flags and the cheers and the band so sweetly playing. It was a feast that day in our Church Town. A feast for one and all.’

  A thrill ran through the Coves. Maud asked if all the people came, and who had given the feast.

  ‘All gave it and all came,’ said Mrs. Pearce. ‘Every man, woman and child in the town was there, and the farmers from up along, they come too, for miles round. Some said it were five thousand, some ten. It were a great big old crowd, that I do know, being there; such a crowd as I never seen before nor after. And the station so green as a forest with boughs and garlands. And one would shout: Here she come! Here she come! I hear the whistle! And such a pushing and a shoving, oh my dear soul, like a herd of bullocks. And then another: That’s no train. That were me awhistling for my dog. And everyone laugh so loud as a clap of thunder. Such a laugh I never heard before nor after. But she come at last, all hung with garlands, and the mayor in his golden chain adriving of her. And the bands they struck up and one and all we sang Old Hundred.’

  ‘How lovely!’ cried Maud.

  They took their leave reluctantly, with wistful glances at the little ship as it went back onto its shelf. And Robin, as he thanked her, ventured upon a word of caution to Mrs. Pearce about the amber, hinting that it might be valuable.

  ‘It’s worth more than a pound I b’lieve,’ agreed the old woman.

  ‘More like five pounds, Mrs. Pearce, so keep it safe.’

  ‘It’s safe enough in the tureen. Good-bye, m’dear. Good-bye, you maids. Any time you’re down along and like to come in you’ll be very welcome.’

  Robin had to go round by the road with a message, so the three girls walked home alone over the cliffs. They went slowly, for Blanche was tired, and they had to drag her up the hill. Their heads were so full of feasts, trains and ships that they said very little. But when they got out of the fields, on to the turf and gorse of the cliff top, Maud began to sing in a tuneless chirp. The others took up the chant, their faint notes scattered by the salt breeze.

  All people that on earth do dwell,

  Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice!

  When alone they were usually very happy, though their pallor, gravity and forlorn shabbiness gave them a deceptive pathos. They had so little, knew so little, had been to so few places and met so few people, their lives were so entirely bare that they had never learnt to want much. During the war their school had been evacuated to the country. But they had not gone with it, and their mother had taught them. She boasted, with some justice, that they knew more history, geography and mathematics and Scripture than they would have learnt at any school. But there had been no other children left in that neighbourhood, so for amusement they had learnt to rely entirely upon themselves. They never disputed or quarrelled and they seldom disagreed. Blanche was the most intelligent, but so much of her energy was absorbed in enduring pain that she was behind Beatrix in her lessons. Maud, the youngest, was the most worldly wise and the least content. Maud was sometimes naughty.

  This trip to Pendizack was the supreme adventure of their lives. They were all a little stunned by it. It was as if a story book had suddenly become real. A week ago they would have thought it impossible that they should ever have friends like the Giffords. Now the barrier between possible and impossible things seemed to have disappeared.

  ‘Hebe will give us our specially brave thing to-morrow,’ said Beatrix, when they had done singing. ‘I wonder what she will decide.’

  ‘We’ve not done half the tests yet,’ said Maud. ‘We haven’t smelt a smell or slept on the floor.’

  ‘She says those can wait,’ said Beatrix. ‘I explained we couldn’t sleep on the floor here because Mummy is in the room.’

  ‘I hope it won’t be a train,’ said Blanche nervously. ‘Lying between the rails and letting a train go over us. I should be too frightened. I don’t think I could.’

  ‘Did Hebe do that?’ cried Maud.

  ‘No. They couldn’t, in London. You can’t get on to a railway line in London. But she thought we might.’

  ‘What did Hebe do?’ asked Beatrix avidly.

  ‘She stayed in St. Paul’s Cathedral all night. She hid, when they shut it up. She said she saw the ghost of Henry the Eighth.’

  ‘What a story!’ cried Maud. ‘St. Paul’s wasn’t built till after the fire of London.’

  ‘New buildings don’t stop a ghost,’ said Blanche. ‘There’s a house in London that was once a road and a man on horseback gallops through it. But if we have to lie under a train I really can’t. Just think of hearing it come roaring along!’

  ‘I don’t think it will be a train,’ said Beatrix. ‘Caroline says she thinks it will be swimming.’

  ‘But we can’t swim!’ protested the others.

  ‘I know. I told her. But Hebe says the Spartan way is to learn by jumping into deep water.’

  ‘But supposing we didn’t learn?’ asked Maud.

  ‘That’s what Caroline said. She told me that if Hebe makes us swim she will stop it.’

  ‘How can she?’

  ‘I don’t know. But she was quite angry. She said the Spartans is only a game, and we mustn’t take it too seriously. She said she didn’t do a brave thing. She only pretended.’

  ‘How very disloyal!’ said Blanche.

  When they came within sight of the cove Blanche suddenly sank down upon the grass saying that she must rest for a minute. They all lay on the short turf, rubbing wild thyme between their fingers. Beatrix said dreamily:

  ‘If we had something to make small things big … a sort of magnifying glass, and took that ship out of the bottle, and made it big,
we’d have a schooner.’

  ‘How would you get it out of the bottle?’ said Maud.

  ‘I would find out. Phineas Pearce put it in.’

  ‘Why not make the bottle large, too?’ said Blanche. ‘And crawl down the neck and live on the ship. If it was inside the bottle we could sit on the deck even if it rained.’

  ‘Where would you put it?’ asked Maud.

  ‘On the headland,’ decided Beatrix, ‘where it could be seen for miles … a huge bottle with a ship inside it. Great crowds would collect every day round the bottle, singing Old Hundred.’

  ‘But nobody would be allowed inside except loyal Spartans,’ said Maud.

  ‘And Robin,’ said Blanche. ‘And Nancibel. I do wish we could do it. Hebe would be so surprised.’

  ‘I think everybody would be surprised,’ said Maud. ‘But I suppose it’s not possible. There can’t be such a glass.’

  ‘There was a telescope once,’ asserted Beatrix, ‘and if you looked through it you saw the past.’

  ‘Beatrix! Was there? Who told you?’

  ‘In the Strand Magazine. A man looked through it at his house and it wasn’t there. So he focused it nearer to his own time and saw it being built.’

  ‘That must have been made up,’ said Blanche.

  ‘No. It said Science.’

  Blanche looked unconvinced and tried to get up, for she felt it was time they were moving again. But her back hurt so much that she fell down again gasping.

  ‘Is it very bad?’ asked Beatrix anxiously.

  Blanche nodded. Tears began to roll down her cheeks, a thing which hardly ever happened.

  ‘Shall we rub it?’

  ‘You might try.’

  With an effort she got on to her face. Beatrix pulled up her cotton frock and pulled down her faded pants and began to knead her spine. But the pain got no better. All three of them were crying now.

  Presently a voice said:

  ‘Has she hurt herself?’