The Whip (The Spaniard's Gift)

  ‘By God! I never thought to see the day.’ Jake Yorkless was almost foaming at the mouth.

  And now, the whip gripped tightly in her hand, she dared to answer him, saying, ‘’Tisn’t afore time, mister, and I’m paying back something that you owed me granny, for you never stopped your wife from taunting her, and you knew full well she should have been in her place.’

  As they glared at each other in the fading light she was amazed to see the fury drop away from his face. Then slowly lowering his head, he said grudgingly, ‘If your granny had had your spunk, she would have been.’ But his head quickly jerked up again and he added, ‘But that’s not sayin’ you’re coming the high and mighty with me, miss. If you’re coming into my house, you’ll keep your place.’

  ‘And what is that to be?’

  For a moment he seemed lost for words, but then, his lower jaw moving from side to side, he said, ‘Remains to be seen how you act.’

  ‘Well, that’ll depend on how I’m treated.’

  ‘Oh, God almighty!’ He now held his brow in his hand and, closing his eyes, rocked himself backward and forward, saying, ‘In all me born days I’ve never listened to anything like it. If our Barney hadn’t gone mad, I’d…’

  He stopped, took his hand from his head and stood looking at her in silence.

  Then he turned and was about to move away when she said quietly, ‘I can’t be expected to do all the work meself. It took the missis and me granny all their time, and me outside. I can’t do three folk’s work, I’ll have to have help.’

  He stopped and looked at her. Then, his voice low and his words slow, he said, ‘Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to try, because if I could have had anybody from the village I wouldn’t be standing here putting up with your claptrap. Do you know that?’

  ‘Yes’—she nodded at him—‘I’m well aware of that. But…but I know somebody who would come.’

  He pulled his neck up out of the rough collar of his coat and said, ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. Mrs Petty.’

  ‘Mary Petty?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But she’s got a squad.’

  ‘They look after each other, so she says. She could come from eight till five, but only for me.’

  ‘Well! Well! Well! You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you?’

  ‘I do better than most.’

  Again he was staring at her in silence. Then he almost flung himself round and marched off into the darkening night. And she went back into the cottage.

  Holding her hand tightly against her chest, she pressed it as if to assist her breathing while she asked herself, how in the name of God had she dared to make that stand? What was in her? Something was happening…had happened. Six months ago she would as soon have thought herself capable of throwing knives at him as of stabbing him with her tongue as she had done. But she had won. In a way, she had won, but as she had said to Barney, the battle hadn’t yet begun, and it wouldn’t till she was married and had some kind of status. That’s what she wanted, some kind of status to make up for the rejection of others.

  These others she didn’t name, not even in her mind.

  Five

  ‘Eeh you look bonny, lass,’ Mary Petty said; ‘I’ve never seen anybody look so bonny. And your frock’s right picture. Fancy you makin’ it yourself. You are a clever lass, Emma. Altogether you’re a clever lass. I used to say to my Katie, Emma Crawshaw’s a clever lass and she shouldn’t be used like she is on that farm, and now in two hours time you’ll have come into your own, you’ll be a missis. Huh—’ the little flabby-bodied woman grinned now as she said, ‘an’ that’s what I’ll have to call you, no more Emmarin’, but missis.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Petty, there’ll be no need.’

  ‘Oh, aye there will. Mightn’t be from your part but from—’ She now thumbed towards the bedroom door. ‘He’ll see to it. If not Mr Barney, his da will. I thought he was a bit of an upstart, Jake Yorkless. You know I worked outside alongside your granny all those years ago, an’ if everybody had had their rights she should have been in here. But then the Lord decides, an’ you wouldn’t have been who you are with Yorkless for your granda. You certainly wouldn’t look like you do the day ’cos you’re past bonny. And this is to be your bedroom.’ Mary Petty looked round the room, nodding as she went on, ‘And you’ve got it nice. It’s a decent size, you can get round the bed. That’s a nice chest you have there; an’ what’s that little door next to it?’

  ‘It leads into the roof, it’s used as a store room. There’s another door at yon end of the house, you’ll have seen it. I think they used to put the winter feed up here afore they had so many outhouses.’

  ‘Aye, an’ I’ve seen somethin’ like it down at Tilson’s old mill…Well lass, you’re ready.’ She now gave her full attention to Emma who was standing in the middle of the room dressed in the first new article of clothing she’d had since coming to this place. The dress was of white linen, stiff enough to allow the skirt to billow a little; she hadn’t had enough material to make it full and fashionable. The bodice was not fitted to her shape because she was conscious of her fast rising bust, so she had made the upper part of the dress in the form of a blouse. But both the skirt and the blouse were drawn into her narrow waist by a belt of the same material and on the front of which she had embroidered a bunch of forget-me-nots. And it was forget-me-nots she was to carry as a small nosegay.

  Although the May day was bright it was still chilly, but she had prepared for this with a soft pink, shop-bought shawl. The extravagance of this purchase which had cost four shillings and sixpence had given her a guilty feeling, but she had told herself it was only once in a lifetime you got married. Following quickly on that thought had come the ardent wish that something would happen before the promised day which would make it impossible for her to go through with the ceremony; the thought of the parson joining her to Barney created in her a feeling that if persisted in she knew would erupt in sickness.

  But it was only yesterday that she knew she was going to be spared that ordeal, that on the previous day he had been called away to attend his father who was ill. This news convinced her that God could be kind when He liked.

  The painter had given her this news. He had given her a wedding present of her own picture, the one where he made her sit by the fire and pretended she was sewing. In fact she had sewn during that sitting, she had hemmed him a handkerchief from a piece of fine lawn that had once been the back of one of his shirts. He didn’t seem to care how he dressed on top but he had two drawers full of good shirts and underwear.

  He had wished her happiness, he had held her hand between his two and stared into her face as he said, ‘I wish your granny could have been alive to see you tomorrow. She was a good woman, your granny. She had her faults, but then who hasn’t? And although you may not have known it, Emma, she loved you.’

  She had wanted to cry then, she had wanted to lean against him and feel his arms about her like those of a father. She wished he would have given her away.

  Then he had given her the message Henry had given him some time ago. And he had gone on, ‘Henry is grieved that he cannot officiate at your wedding because he is very, very fond of you, Emma.’

  She had said nothing, but she had looked hard at him, and his gaze had dropped from hers. Then without further words she had turned about and left the house, carrying the picture. And now it was hanging on the wall to the side of the bed.

  Mary Petty was still chattering: ‘There’ll be a lot of villagers there; they’re all looking forward to seeing you wed. ’Tis a pity you have no soul of your own, you need a woman relation at a time like this. Anyway, you won’t be in for a rough night ’cos there’s going to be no big do after. ’Tis a pity in one way, I mean about the do, not about the rough night. Oh no. I can remember the night I was married. They carried us both into the room and practically tore the clothes off us. Drunk as noodles they all were. And Ned too, he was so drunk he couldn’t tell which was top
or bottom of me.’ She now put her arms round her waist and her body shook with laughter; then she added, ‘He soon found out after, as my squad proves. But you’re gettin’ a better start than I had, lass, or many another like you that has been brought up on the farms, one-room hovels were our mansions. Our Letty and Jane think they’re in clover now ’cos they’ve got two rooms an’ a scullery, but they are still mud-floored. I suppose I should be thankful to God that I’m not still living in Newcastle. That’s where I was born, you know lass, in Newcastle. But as I’ve said to himself time and again—that’s when I get fed up with me life—the only difference is that the midden is now at the back of the house instead of in the gutter as it was when I was a bairn in the city. Life’s a funny thing. Aw, well now, lass, you’re ready. By the way, I wouldn’t expect your new brother-in-law to be at the church, ’cos from what I can gather he was in The Tuns last night shoutin’ his mouth off. He left on Laura Nixon’s cart, and you’re old enough to know what that means.’

  When Emma shook her head slightly, Mary said, ‘You don’t? You don’t know about Laura Nixon from outside of Birtley township? Oh, Laura’s known far and near. She lost her man in the first year she was married, but she hasn’t gone short since. Didn’t you know she was the cause of Mary Haswell giving Mr Luke the push? Her brother followed him one night and there was a fisticuffs show up. He lost a good thing there because old man Haswell isn’t without a penny, ’tis known.’

  ‘I’m ready, Mrs Petty.’ Emma was getting a little weary of Mary’s chatter. However, she was grateful for the last piece of news, but most of all she was grateful that there would be no big do afterwards; she had heard more than once what happened to the bride and bridegroom, and she felt the whole thing to be indecent, besides being embarrassing. She had often wondered how the bride could stand it. Yet she also understood that by the time they were ready for bed, the bride was often so full of mead the happenings meant little to her except to make her giggle. Well, she wouldn’t be full of mead; but then perhaps it would be better if she were.

  Jake Yorkless was standing in the kitchen awaiting her and he stared at her as she walked the length of the room towards him. His jaw was slack, his eyes veiled, he uttered no word but looked her up and down for perhaps thirty seconds, and in complete silence; the break in it came when he turned abruptly and walked out of the door into the bright hard sunshine.

  After a moment’s pause Emma followed him.

  He did not help her into the trap and she had to gather her skirt well above her new slippers in order to take the high step, and she had hardly seated herself when he set the horse in motion, and she had to grab at her small straw hat. She had come by this only last week on a second-hand stall in the Gateshead Fell market. She had walked all the way there and back and so saved the price of the hat which was tuppence.

  Besides Billy Proctor who was to give her away, there were a number of people standing outside the church and she recognised them as members of families that weren’t God-fearing, such as the Farrows, the Hobkirks, the Charltons and the Wheatleys. Wheatleys and Charltons were notorious characters: the Charltons were drovers, the Wheatleys helped with the tanning over at Chester-le-Street. Mr Wheatley had the nickname of ‘the skinner’, and he was so mean about standing his turn in The Tuns that it was said he would skin a louse for its hide. But all these people waved to her. Their expressions were kindly and some of them called, ‘Good luck, Emma. Good luck. Happy life, Emma. Happy life.’ And their warmth almost brought her to tears.

  The church was dim and there were a number of people in the pews. Miss Wilkinson was playing the organ, and the pumping of the bellows worked by Tommy Price interspersed a wheezing sound in between the notes. It sounded no different today than from any Sunday, yet she was more aware of it. She had once told the parson that the organ sounded like someone with a bad chest attempting to sing soprano, and that made him and the painter laugh. But the painter hadn’t come, he said he wouldn’t. She was sad about that.

  The man who was standing where the parson usually stood at the top of the two steps leading to the altar was short and plump. He looked so well-fed; likely he had come from a town parish. She did not look at her bridegroom although she knew that Barney was staring at her.

  While they were kneeling side by side in front of the strange parson her mind took a great jump and she thought, will I have to take me frock off and do the milking when I get back? Because it’s only twelve o’clock now and the tea should be over by about three as there’s only six outsiders, and they include Billy.

  The others were Anthony Hudson who was now standing to the side of Barney, acting as his best man, Farmer Hudson himself and his wife, and Mr Haswell the verger and his wife. As regards a wedding it would be classed in the village as a shabby one; but then she knew a lot of the villagers wouldn’t have accepted an invitation if they had been sent one, for, after all, who was Barney marrying? A nobody, just a farm skivvy when he could have had the pick of a number of lasses in Fellburn village or even as far away as Gateshead proper on the one side, and Birtley or any of the hamlets around on the other, because he used to get about, did Barney. And she had to admit he wasn’t at all bad-looking and was well set up in his body.

  At this point her mind flew off at a tangent again. If during the past weeks the travelling show had happened to come this way, she was telling herself now, she would have run off with them like her mother had done; but not to marry someone, just to work among them. She would have loved that. She didn’t want to marry anybody, she…

  ‘Barnabas, wilt thou have this woman…?’

  ‘I will.’ Barney’s voice was low but firm.

  ‘Emaralda—’ the parson seemed to stumble over her name—‘wilt thou have this man …?’

  She was brought back to the present with a start when she became aware that Barney’s elbow was nudging her gently, and she said, ‘I will.’

  He was leaning towards her, putting the ring onto her finger. She listened to the parson’s voice mumbling on, he didn’t speak clear like Henry. Her whole body jerked. That was the first time she had ever thought of the parson as Henry …

  She was married now, she was Mrs Yorkless. She didn’t like the name. She hadn’t liked Crawshaw, but she liked Yorkless even less.

  They had signed their names in the vestry and she had walked down the church aisle, her arm through Barney’s. Now they were outside with most of the people from the church milling about them. Some shook their hands and others patted Barney on the back. The verger was saying to Jake Yorkless that he and his wife would be along later as he had to see to the Reverend Blackett.

  They were in the trap again: Jake Yorkless was driving and she and Barney were sitting behind. Barney was holding her hand tightly. It had a reassuring feel. For the first time she had turned and looked fully into his face and she smiled at him. She was his wife, she would do what duty was expected of her, and he would be good to her. She felt sure of this. He would stand up for her and not let her be abused. She drew comfort from this. Life mightn’t be too bad. There were things in it you had to remember and things in it you had to forget, but it was difficult to forget the things that you wanted to remember, and that was a task that lay ahead of her.

  It was nine o’clock in the evening of the same day. She had long since changed out of her wedding dress and laid it in the bottom of the mahogany three-drawer chest that stood to the side of the window. The bedroom had once been Dan’s. Luke had refused to move out of the larger one where he and Barney had slept together since they were children. And although she had opened the windows wide in this room, whitewashed the walls and scrubbed the floorboards a number of times, to her mind the smell of death still lingered about it. Moreover, the bed, though not a single one, was yet not a double one and its size suggested close proximity whether one wished it or not.

  There had been no merriment at the wedding tea, only stiff and polite conversation, and as soon as the guests had gone, which wasn�
�t very long after they had finished eating, Jake Yorkless, who was now her father-in-law but whom she still addressed and would go on addressing as mister, had turned to the bridegroom, saying, ‘Well, as our Luke doesn’t intend to put in an appearance or lift a finger and those animals are blaring for release, an’ Proctor doesn’t seem to be doing much about it, ’tis best we get our glad rags off, eh?’

  Barney had looked at his father, a hard resentful look, then he had turned his gaze on Emma, and she had given him no sign, except to droop her head, before walking out of the kitchen to go to her room and change. But as she left she heard Barney say, ‘You couldn’t make allowances even for today, could you,’ and his father answered, ‘What is there to make allowances for? You’ve got the night to come, haven’t you?’ …

  And the night had come, almost. The lamp was burning on the centre of the kitchen table. For the past hour or more, Jake Yorkless and Pete had sat at the table drinking. Pete hadn’t drunk as much as his father, but enough to make him fuddled-headed, giggly and thick-tongued.

  Jake Yorkless too was thick-tongued, and his tongue had become loose for he was talking incessantly at Barney where he sat on the settle, a mug of beer to his hand. Barney was far from drunk for he had taken little, and he had said little, he just sat listening to the prattle at the table, until his father, addressing Emma, said, ‘You know, girl, you’re lucky. Or maybe you’re not. It all depends on how you look at it. But if this was happening in me grandfather’s time, or even in me father’s, you would be in the barn now being tried out. ’Twas the custom for the father to break in the bride. Still goes…still goes some places, an’ I don’t see…’