The Whip (The Spaniard's Gift)

  ‘Stop acting, Luke.’ She had forgotten about her prayer to God asking Him to control her temper, and now was yelling, ‘Annie has been taken away by a man and you know what that means.’

  Now the Luke she knew was facing her. In an instant his face was transformed. His sudden rage had turned almost purple and he bellowed at her, ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Spanish Emma. I’m in me own house. And let me tell you something, the news you have brought is the best I’ve heard in years, but it’s not unexpected. Your daughter’s a whore, a little ready-made whore. She takes after her mother. But then her mother hadn’t the nerve to come into the open, she concealed it running after the painter and the parson till she nabbed me brother. But every inch of you’s a whore. Laura here is classed as a whore but she couldn’t hold a candle to you because she was made into one. You were born one. But your little daughter…well, she wasn’t afraid to show her wares. Do you know she even offered them to me? She had a fancy for older blokes and I bet at this minute she’s makin’ some old fellow very happy…’

  ‘Shut up, you! You’re a devil, that’s what you are, and I know now you’re in it. Whatever happened to her you were a part of it, and just to get at me.’

  ‘Now you be careful. You say anything like that again and I’ll go to the justices. Aye, by God I will. I’ll go to Mr Fordyke. Yes…Mr Fordyke, that’s who I’ll go to and he’ll take me case up for me, for he’s got as much love for you as I have, ’cos you gave his son a taste of the whip, didn’t you? Very handy with the whip, aren’t you, Emma’? And you know something?’ His voice dropped to the bantering tone he had assumed when he first saw her. ‘You were very foolish to come here on your own, very foolish, for now I’ve got you alone it could be my turn. I’ve got one out in the yard an’ could skin the hide off you. Oh aye, Emma, I could skin the hide…’

  ‘Leave her alone, Luke.’ The woman had caught hold of his arm now and she turned to Emma, her voice grim, saying, ‘Get out. Get out.’

  Like someone drunk Emma stumbled towards the door, and she opened it but didn’t close it behind her and Luke’s voice followed her, yelling to the woman, ‘I haven’t started to pay her off yet. I’ll do for her, I tell you. If it’s the last thing on this earth, I’ll do for her.’

  She stumbled out through the broken gate and into the road.

  Beyond the bend she stopped and leant over a low drystone wall, muttering to herself, her thoughts and words all jumbled up, asking God why? What had she done that this should come upon her? Why should a man hate her so?

  As the turmoil in her mind lessened it left one thing outstanding and clear: he had been the instigator of Annie’s going, and he knew what was happening to her and was taking joy in it. She had been mad to seek him out; she should have known, past events should have warned her. But what could she do about it? Could she go to the justice? No, she had no proof. And as he said, he himself could go to Mr Fordyke and find an ally.

  And now she must go home and lie. She must lie to Barney and to the mister, for as weak as she imagined the mister was, she knew that were she to tell him his son had purposely sent his only grandchild, his beloved granddaughter, into a life of…what was the word? sin, horror, degradation, he would in all probability try to kill him.

  She did not wait for the carrier cart—in any case this would not pass within the next hour or so—but she set off to take the long walk back to the farm. Before reaching it, however, she had faced the awful truth that the horror of the situation was being felt much more by those Annie had left behind than by Annie herself, no matter what was happening to her, for there was something in her daughter that needed men far beyond a woman’s natural desire.

  Three

  The summer passed and the autumn came and the thick morning mists that covered the land were no heavier than the gloom that pervaded the house.

  Emma had experienced tension before. Annie had gone, but now the weariness that tension creates had dissolved into apathy, and not only in her, but more noticeably in Barney and his father. Although Barney was deprived of mobile life, his voice at times had been vibrant, but now when he spoke it was in a level, listless fashion.

  As for Jake Yorkless, he worked as he always had done, hard; he ate as he always had done, gobbling his food in order not to waste time; but the spare time that he had he no longer spent in the kitchen but would sit in the late evenings in the tack room making tallow for the candles or repairing harness.

  Emma herself had always been overworked, but now her workload had increased because she had to fit in the little that Annie had done and also do part of Mary’s work.

  Mary’s legs had become very swollen and so she couldn’t make the return journey every day but had been forced to cut her time to three days a week; even so, she had to be met at the bottom of the lane by the cart, and then dropped in a similar way in the evening, which meant late work harnessing the horse and bedding it.

  As the winter drew on Mary did not always manage to make her three visits a week, as during this particular week when the snow was lying thick. Emma this morning was making Barney comfortable and answering his question of what she was going to do without Mary’s help by saying, ‘What cannot be done must be left undone. The animals come first; after I see to the meals.’ She did not mention her attendance on him for that had to be done whatever else went by the board.

  ‘When do you think the parson will be back?’ he asked, and she answered briefly, ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘He’s been gone nearly two weeks; his sister will either be better or have died.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  He turned his head and looked at the snow-smeared window, saying now, ‘I…I miss him. He’s become sort of…well, necessary to me. He seems to bring the world into the room. You know what I mean?’

  She bent over him to fasten the top button of his shirt, but she didn’t say, ‘Yes, I know what you mean,’ because what Henry brought to each of them was so different, but she thought, if he had the power to read my mind would he still welcome him? There was a small derisive laugh echoing somewhere inside herself as her inner voice said, ‘He’d forbid him the house.’ Men were odd; all men were odd, even Henry. Time and time again he’d had the chance to touch her hand, an action which would have been like balm on her tormented spirit, but he hadn’t done it. He would open doors for her, carry trays for her, take them from her hands, but he would always avoid contact with her, even when there wasn’t a soul in sight. Sometimes she thought God stood between them, his God, for she had little use for God or prayer now. What had God ever done for her but taught her in deep measure the meaning of frustration? She knew that if Barney were to die tomorrow her life would be no different from what it was today…at least with regard to what lay between the parson and her.

  During the past months her thoughts had turned bitter towards him. At one time his presence had been enough; to sit for a few minutes in the room of an evening doing her mending and listening to him talking to Barney had been sufficient; but not any more, particularly since Annie had gone. It was as if her daughter had left her wanton desire behind her for lately she herself had tossed and turned so much that she had kept both herself and Barney awake, with the resulting consequence she had said she would sleep upstairs for a time; and some irrational part of her had known and experienced an added hurt when he raised no objection to this.

  It had been the first Christmas since Annie was born that there hadn’t been a child in the house, and the holiday had passed as a normal day except that Alec Hudson and his wife called on Christmas Eve to see Barney. But their stay had been short and, naturally, without jollity.

  The waits had not come up from the village this year, and Mary had explained to her, if it needed any explanation, it had been discussed down below but that under the circumstances they had thought the better of it …

  It was now evening on this bleak day. The house was quiet and the meal was over. Jake Yorkless had gone to the tack ro
om as usual; Jimmy had left the farm before darkness set in, in case there was another heavy fall of snow that would prevent him getting back to the village. It wasn’t yet time to settle Barney down for the night, and for the countless time that day she filled the kettle from the pump and set it on the hob. Then she blew up the fire with the bellows to get some red-hot cinders to put into the warming-pans, for the mister liked his bed warm. And now she stood undecided, one arm stretched out against the mantelshelf as she stared down at the fire, asking herself should she sit down for a few minutes before she washed the crocks; but immediately deciding against it because, she told herself, once she sat down she would have a job to get up again, she was so tired, physically tired. The work was wearing the flesh off her bones, her skirt was hanging slack at the waist now. Her waist had always been narrow but of late she’d had to put a tuck into her skirt band. This would not have mattered so much if her mind had been at peace, but, with the combination, she wondered how much longer she could go on. She felt old and worn out. Here she was just turned thirty and she didn’t care if she were to die tomorrow, or this night even. What was there to live for anyway?

  Her hand left the support of the mantelshelf and her body jerked round as a tap came on the kitchen door. She heard the kicking of feet against the boot scraper. There was only ever one person who knocked on the kitchen door like that.

  He entered hat in hand, having banged this against the wall, and she moved forward towards the table and leant against the edge of it.

  ‘Hello, Emma.’

  There was a long pause before she could answer, ‘Hello, Parson.’

  ‘Have I startled you? I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, no, not at all. But what brought you out on a night like this?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been cooped most of the day.’

  ‘You…you’ve just got back…I mean today?’

  ‘About four o’clock.’

  A little warmth came into her heart. He had arrived back at four o’clock and now it was only twenty minutes to seven and he had come all the way from the village on foot. It must have taken him an hour at least because the drifts were high in parts. She almost sprang round the table, saying, ‘Let me take your coat. Come up to the fire and I’ll get you something hot; there’s broth in the pan.’

  She went to take the coat from him but he said, ‘Just a minute,’ and putting his hand into a large inner pocket, he brought out two flat wrapped parcels, one of which he handed to her, ‘That is from my sister.’

  ‘For me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he laughed, ‘for you. It mightn’t seem of much value but she treasured it.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘No, no; she’s well on the mend again. But I was telling her about you, and she thought you might like it. I must warn you it is nothing much to look at, but she always found its contents very helpful and very precious.’

  Swiftly she unwrapped the paper and saw a much worn soft leather-bound book, and opening it at random she gazed at it for a moment. Then lifting her head to him, she said, ‘They’re poems.’

  ‘Yes, an anthology of poems. She’s had it since she was a girl.’

  Pressing the book against her breast, she gazed at him for a moment. She was deeply touched and found it hard to speak; then she said, ‘She must be a nice person…lady, so thoughtful to…to give me this.’ She patted the book twice with her hand. ‘Will you tell her when you write that…that I thank her and I’ll treasure it as much as she did.’

  ‘I will. I will, Emma. This too is a book.’ He put the other brown paper package on the table. ‘It’s for Barney. Much different from poems; it’s a book of puzzles that exert the mind. It was in our schoolroom long before we made use of it. I don’t know from where it came or who thought the puzzles up but none of us boys ever managed to solve them all. I…I think Barney might find it useful to fill in a little time.’

  She moved her head slightly. ‘Yes, yes,’ she said; ‘I’m sure he will. Look, come to the fire. I’ll pour you some soup out. Come and get warm.’

  A few minutes later he was sitting on the settle to the side of the fire and she was standing before him holding out a tray on which was a bowl of broth and a spoon. He put his hands on the tray but did not actually take it from her, but staring into her face that was just slightly above his now, he said, ‘I’m so glad to be back, Emma.’

  The tray trembled between them. It was like a declaration of love and her voice was a whisper as she answered, ‘And I’m so glad to see you back.’ She did not add ‘Parson’.

  He now took the tray from her and placed it on his knees, and looked down into the broth.

  She turned away towards the fire. Had she ever felt bitterness towards him? Had she ever wanted to die? If she had ever seen love in a man’s eyes she had seen it a moment ago. It was enough; she’d survive on it.

  Four

  The winter, like all winters, was hard. The hope was for the spring, and when it came it was wet and wild. The earth was heavy to plough; the horses became bogged down to their knees in the marshy parts. The yard was awash with mud: it tramped into the kitchen and from there to the hall and, as Mary could no longer go down on her knees to scrub the stone floors, Emma had to do it.

  It was the middle of May before the weather changed. The fields drained, the yard dried, the sun shone, and she had opened all the windows in the house to let the air through. She had even opened the door into the attic with the fanlight in the roof. It was seldom she went under the roof. It was generally bare for Dilly Yorkless had had little enough furniture to fill the house, let alone storing it in the attic.

  Emma paused a moment and looked about her. There were her whips, dust covered. She picked one up and smiled to herself. The mice had had a feed of the leather-bound handle. The wooden handle of another had been nibbled too, also the end of the thongs. Next, she unrolled the belt of knives and took out one of them from its sheath and laid it across her palm. It conjured up the picture of her father. His memory was dim now and that of her mother almost non-existent, and the travelling-show folk seemed like shadowy characters in a half-forgotten dream, coming and going with no substance. She thought for a moment with welling sadness how different her life might have been if her father had lived: she herself would have travelled over a large area of the country; she would have lived in the open; she would have been brought up with compatible people, people who became friends; she would have become expert with the whips, and perhaps the knives too. Instead, what had happened to her?

  Oh, enough of back thinking.

  She rolled up the belt and laid it down near the whips. Somebody ordered your life. Whether it was God or the devil, she didn’t know, but whoever it was, you had to go through with it. There was a saying that God made the back to bear the burden, but to her mind He didn’t make the back, He simply made the burden, and the burden either broke your back or strengthened it, it all depended on who you were and how much you could bear.

  She went to the roof fanlight. It hadn’t been opened for years, and she had a job to get the sneck out of the staple. And when she succeeded she had to make another big effort to push the frame upwards. She could hardly see through the glass. The weather had kept the outside clean but inside hadn’t been touched, not in her time anyway. She told herself she must bring a bucket of water up here and clean it; it would let in more light.

  The window pushed outwards. She pulled down the iron rods at the side that supported it, then she found she was looking into the branches of the old apple tree, and she smiled to herself. The buds were full. Oh, it was lovely to see new growth again. And from this angle she could see over the fields, and right along the track to where it dropped to the coach road…There was somebody coming towards the farm. She screwed her eyes up against the sunlight, moved her head to get a better view through the branches. The figure disappeared from view for a minute or so, and when she next saw it she cried aloud, ‘Pete! Why, Pete.’ Now she was racing out of the attic, through the be
droom, across the landing and down the stairs, and she stopped for a moment to push the sitting-room door open and to shout to Barney, ‘’Tis Pete! ’Tis Pete!’

  ‘Pete?’ His head moved quickly.

  ‘Yes; I saw him from above.’

  She met him in the yard and actually put her arms about him and kissed him, a thing she had never done before, and he cried at her, ‘Well, well! Emma, after that I’ll come home every week.’

  He looked about him. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ he said. ‘Never will. How are you, lass?’ He put his arm around her shoulder and when she didn’t answer but bowed her head, he lowered his too and tried to look into her face. In the excitement of seeing him she had forgotten what lay over the house, until he had said nothing has changed.

  ‘Barney, he’s still all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ She turned and pointed, and when Pete saw his brother’s head as if it was resting beyond the window sill and his one arm raised in the air he waved back to him, then made hurriedly for the kitchen, saying, ‘Where’s Da?’

  ‘In the stone field I think…Pete.’ They were in the kitchen now. He had dropped his kitbag and he had thrown off his straw hat, and now looking at her straight face he said, ‘Somethin’ wrong, Emma?’

  ‘Very wrong, Pete. I’d better tell you afore you see Barney.’

  And she told him. Halfway through the telling he had dropped into a chair; when she finished he didn’t speak, his head was deep on his chest. After some moments he raised it and, looking at her, he said simply, ‘She was lively that way, Emma.’

  And she answered, ‘Yes, she was, Pete. But…but God help her. She wouldn’t know what she was in for.’

  ‘Aye’—he shook his head slowly—‘God help her. Indeed, God help her. I’ve seen them…lasses.’ He closed his eyes tightly, and jerked his head, then rose to his feet, asking now, ‘How did Barney take it?’