The Whip (The Spaniard's Gift)

by Catherine Cookson

  Emma couldn’t stop Luke from attending his father’s funeral or helping to bear his coffin down the lane to where the hearse waited on the coach road. Nor could she prevent him entering the house and sitting down to a meal. Only one thing she was glad about, Annie paid no attention to him, in fact she seemed to ignore him. She had not even answered his, ‘Hello there, Annie me dear,’ when he first came into the kitchen.

  Now the mourners and sympathisers had gone and there he stood facing her across the table, saying, ‘I want to see me brother.’

  ‘You’re rather late in the day wanting to see him, aren’t you?’ Emma answered.

  ‘Things are different now, this is business.’

  ‘Business? What business?’

  He poked his head towards her as he said, ‘The business of me share in this place.’

  ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘Oh no, Emma, I’m not joking. It’s a matter called inheritance, and I’m equal to Barney in this.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Her voice was deep and full of bitterness.

  ‘Well, we’ll see. Anyway, are you going to try and stop me seein’ me brother?’

  She knew that there was no way in which she could stop him seeing Barney. He was a big man, thickset, brutish looking now, any good looks he had had were long since gone, and she knew if she attempted to bar his way he would enjoy struggling with her. And so, after a moment’s pause, she moved from the table and walked up the room, and he followed her through the hall and into the sitting room. As she opened the door she called in an over-loud voice, ‘You have a visitor, Barney.’

  Barney lifted his head from the pillow and stared at his brother coming towards him, and Luke, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed, stared at the white face with the eyes buried deep in it and the brow receding well into the head that was now bald to the crown, and he said, ‘Well, hello there.’

  ‘What do you want here?’

  ‘I should have thought it would be evident to you, brother, since you haven’t lost your senses. As I told her’—he jerked his head towards Emma—‘I’ve come to claim part of me inheritance.’

  ‘Get out. Get yourself out.’

  ‘Not afore we come to an understanding, for I don’t suppose the old man had the sense to leave a will. I’ve been informed that as I stand I am due to me share and this business about you being the elder wouldn’t stand up in a court of law.’

  ‘There you’re wrong on both counts.’ Barney now lifted his thin arm and thrust one bony forefinger at Luke, repeating, ‘On both counts, because I am the elder and that stands, and the other thing is the old man did have some sense and after what he found out about you he made it his business to put it in writin’. You can go to Gateshead, to Hedley and Stocks, solicitors. They’ll give you all the information you need. But I can tell you now what they will say to you: the farm was left to me, solely, and when I go I leave it to me wife. That’s been seen to an’ all.’

  Luke’s face was a study. Emma expected to watch it becoming contorted with rage, but when he smiled the effect was much more disturbing than rage could have been. But there was no smile in his voice as he said, ‘We can all have lawyers, and I’ll fight you for this. And anyway, how can she run the place on her own?’

  ‘She’s done it for a long time now and she’ll do it to the end.’

  ‘We’ll see, we’ll see, brother. Oh aye, we’ll see.’ His head nodding the while, Luke backed two steps from the foot of the bed; then turning suddenly about, he left the room, and Emma, after casting a quick glance towards Barney, ran after him.

  In the kitchen she stood just within the hall doorway and watched him grab up his coat from the back of the settle, then take his tall hat from the hook behind the back door. When he had put it on his head, he tapped the top of it; then looking at her across the room, he said, ‘You’ll be seein’ me, Emma. Don’t forget that, you’ll be seein’ me. Oh aye, bet on it, you’ll be seein’ me.’

  She was actually shivering as she leant against the door. She had no doubt in her mind but that she’d be seeing him, in one way or another she’d be seeing him. There was something frightening about Luke Yorkless, there was an evil in him, and she herself in some way always managed to bring it to the fore.

  Well now, she sat down on the settle and looked at the fire, to all intents and purposes the place was theirs. Strange, but it was really hers for she would have to see to the money side of it now. She had said to Barney last night, ‘You could help me with this, I mean with the bills and things and the buying and selling.’ She knew she was quite capable of dealing with these matters herself but she had thought it would give him a new interest; but he hadn’t seemed enthusiastic over the suggestion, there was an apathy about him that was getting deeper each day. Yet when he was going for Luke he had sounded like his old self.

  But sitting here wouldn’t get the work done. Yet oh, how she longed to sit for half an hour or so looking at the fire and thinking. At night-time, if she had attempted to do so, she would have immediately fallen asleep. She rose, saying to Annie, ‘Clear the table now and put the best china away, there’s a good lass. I’m going to change.’

  Annie was very quiet. She had been so for days now, and she answered briefly, ‘Yes, Ma.’

  Ten minutes later Emma was in the yard making for the byres when Jimmy came hurrying down from the barn saying, ‘Can I have a word with you, missis, special like?’

  She smiled at him as she said, ‘You can always have a word with me, Jimmy. What kind of a special word do you want to have?’

  He pushed open the byre door and they went in and stood in the steamy dimness, and there, moving from one foot to the other and his head slightly lowered, he said, ‘I’m courtin’ strong and I don’t want to go on for years like some, and…and I thought, well, sort of killin’ two birds with one stone, you need a man round here all the time like, don’t you?’

  She nodded her head. ‘Yes, you’re right Jimmy, I do.’

  ‘Well, I wondered if you would let me have the cottage. I’ll do it up meself and everything, so we could get married, Alice and me. An’ she would be handy round about. She’s in service in Gosforth, but she doesn’t like it much. An’ she doesn’t want much pay. Well, she wouldn’t expect it because you can’t afford it yet, I know how things are, but we’d manage fine on what I get, if we had the cottage.’

  ‘Oh, Jimmy!’ She put out her hand and grabbed at his dirty square red one and, shaking it warmly, she said, ‘Oh, you’re welcome, boy, you’re welcome. But then you’re no longer a boy, are you?’ She laughed now. ‘And I’ll be glad to see the cottage occupied again. Of course it’s not much of a cottage. I thought little of it when I first saw it and it’s pretty dilapidated now; it’ll want working on both inside and out.’

  ‘Oh, missis, don’t you worry’—his face was one broad grin—‘I’ll do that, nights after work an’ Sundays. The parson won’t get at me for breakin’ the Lord’s Day up here ’cos he won’t see me. Not that he would say anything, not him, if he did see me breaking the Sabbath. What do you think?’

  ‘I think the same as you, Jimmy. Well, go ahead as soon as ever you like.’

  ‘Well, the nearest I think would be Easter, ’cos she’s tied you see, and her time will be up at Easter. Funny that, isn’t it? They can throw you out at a minute’s notice if you do owt wrong, but if you want to leave you’ve got to work your time.’

  ‘Yes, it is funny.’ Emma now leant towards him and in a mock-menacing tone she said, ‘But as soon as you’re married I’ll bond the both of you, ten years each.’

  It was a long time since the byres had rung with laughter. Although it was soon over and they both went on with their work and it didn’t exactly efface Luke’s threat, it lightened Emma’s day, for the prospect of having Jimmy permanently on the farm she considered to be a blessing, especially if his wife should turn out to be a companionable lass. And there was the added thought that, being young, she would perhaps have
a good influence on Annie …

  It started to snow in earnest the following day. The ground was frozen hard and so it lay, and in the afternoon Annie played snowballs in the yard. She threw one at her father’s window and it spread across the pane and obliterated the shadow of his head behind the glass; she threw one at Jimmy, but he didn’t stop and throw one back; then she ran out from the farmyard and across the field. But she was back within half an hour, her cheeks glowing, her eyes bright, her voice high as she burst into the dairy, crying, ‘Oh, it’s lovely out, Ma.’

  ‘Well, get out again.’ Emma shooed her back towards the door. ‘Look at your feet! I’ve just done this floor. We want no muck in here, go on.’

  Annie went out giggling, and Emma smiled quietly to herself. Her daughter was changing.

  The following morning Emma awoke to a hushed world. Her shoulders hunched against the cold, she went to the window and peered out into the still black morning, black in the sky that was, and she had to look upwards to see it, for the snow had piled itself on the deep window sill and formed a drift a third of the way up the panes. She screwed up her eyes and shook her head, shaking the sleep from her. If that window-sill was any indication they’d soon be cut off. She lit the lamp and quickly got into her clothes and went downstairs.

  The hall was freezing. She glanced towards the sitting-room door. She hoped there were still some embers left in Barney’s fire. In the kitchen she took the bellows and blew the slack coal to a red glow; then taking a newspaper from a box at the side of the fireplace, she opened it wide and placed it across the whole grate, and with her arms spread she held it like that until the centre of it became brown and was on the point of bursting into flames, when she quickly pulled it away and folded it up and replaced it in the box before lifting the black kettle from the hob and putting it in the heart of the now flame-licking fire. Following this, she went to the door and, after unbolting it, she gently pulled it open. But even so the drifted snow fell inwards. Pushing the door quickly closed again, she muttered to herself, ‘Good gracious! it must be deep. I wonder if Jimmy will make it.’ And she looked at the clock. It was turned six. On fine mornings he would be here by now. She was going to have a job if he didn’t turn up. Oh, but he would. If it was at all possible he would.

  She went back to the stove and mashed the tea; she then took a cup in to Barney. He was awake and he greeted her with, ‘The room’s like an iceberg.’

  ‘I’ll get the fire goin’ in a minute. Here, drink this.’ Supporting his head while he gulped at the tea, she said, ‘It looks as if we are going to be snowed up. I’m worried in case Jimmy doesn’t make it.’

  ‘What’s to stop him? I used to go through drifts waist-high, in fact fell into them up to me chin. They’ve got things too soft these days.’

  She said nothing but she was asking herself what had happened to Barney to bring about this change. For weeks now he had been like this, his attitude almost like that of his father. He was hardly civil to the parson and she had to apologise to Henry for his behaviour. But Henry had said that it was understandable in Barney’s case, a breaking point must come at some stage. It was all the outcome of frustration and she should be patient with him.

  The only way she could be patient was to bite her tongue and say nothing. This she did now and, turning from the bed, she went to the fire and got it going. Following this she went upstairs and roused Annie. Her daughter was curled up like a ball under the bedclothes and when her head emerged she looked so pink and glowing and fresh, almost like a child again, the sight brought tears to Emma’s throat and softened her voice as she said, ‘Come on, dear.’ It was a long time since she had called her daughter dear. Then she repeated, ‘Come on, dear. Time to get up. The snow’s thick, you’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘Oh, Ma, it’s cold.’

  ‘Yes, I know, so jump into your clothes, then have a hot drink and you’ll feel fine.’

  For answer Annie pulled the blanket over her head again and wriggled her body, and Emma turned away and went down the stairs, and her face broke into a smile of relief when she entered the kitchen and heard a scraping at the back door and knew it was Jimmy with the shovel clearing a way out.

  Opening the door gently, she said, ‘You’ve made it then.’

  ‘Aye, yes, missis. It wasn’t too bad; it’s just the drifts. But it’s still comin’ down. Won’t be able to say it’s not too bad by the night if it keeps on like this though.’

  ‘Here’—she opened the door further now—‘step inside and have a cup of tea, you must be frozen.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say no, missis. Ta.’ He kicked his boots against the wall, took off his cap and dashed it against his shoulders and arms, then stepped over the threshold and closed the door and stood with his back to it, saying, ‘I’ll come no further, the heat’ll drip me and it’ll be all over the floor.’

  ‘It’ll be all over the floor afore the day’s out, Jimmy, you can depend upon that.’ She was smiling happily as she handed him a mug of tea, and as she stood looking at him drinking, the steam wafting round his pleasant square face, she realised that this youth was the only person in this place who had never caused her any trouble; in fact, his presence had brought a kind of lightness to her life, especially where work was concerned. And what was his reward? Ten shillings a week now and his rough food, with lately, a sack of potatoes at Christmas and the same of turnips, and in the summer all the apples he could gather from the topmost branches of the old tree. But then he had always had this latter perk since he was a lad because he was the only one who could get up there. The branches wouldn’t bear the men and they hadn’t a ladder long enough to reach. As he himself had grown older and heavier he had devised a way of climbing the tree and supporting himself against the roof. Even so, there were always a few apples he couldn’t reach, and these had to be left until they dropped. But what dropped to the ground was the farmer’s, even those that were bored by the wasps because then, as she remembered only too well, her chore had been to cut the good parts out ready for stewing and straining to make jelly, always supposing the sugar wasn’t too dear. Otherwise, Dilly Yorkless used to put them in a vat with yeast and make a kind of wine that was like vinegar. She had never attempted to make it herself.

  ‘I got a note off to me lass last night,’ Jimmy said. ‘Ted Conroy. He goes into Newcastle every day, he’s apprenticed to a marble mason. ’Tis a good job that, because there’ll always be cemeteries an’ they’ll always want headstones an’ them that can pay always have marble. And he has to pass where Alice works so he’s gona pop it in the back door. She’ll be over the moon…Well, I mustn’t stand here jabberin’, else the snow’ll have blocked us in again.’ He handed her the mug, saying, ‘That’s gone where it was needed. Ta, missis.’

  When she turned about, Annie was coming into the kitchen. She was yawning and stretching her arms above her head. Her hands at right angles to her wrists made her look as if she was giving an offering to the gods …

  Now what had made her think that? It was something that Ralph or Henry would say, in fact had said more than once about offerings being made to the gods.

  ‘Come and get a drink. And I think you should stay in the house the day because…’

  ‘Oh no, Ma. No.’ Annie came hurrying towards Emma now. ‘Oh, let me go outside. I’ll help to clear the yard. You know I love the snow.’

  ‘But it’s freezin’.’

  ‘Oh, I can work hard enough to keep meself warm. Oh Ma, I don’t want to stay inside, please.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you. If you don’t mind gettin’ wet up to the knees and chilblains on your hands.’

  ‘I’ve never got chilblains.’

  No, that was true, she never had. Her skin was without blemish of any kind…What was she saying? She was not only thinking like a doting mother now, she was almost believing what she thought. Her skin without blemish. Dear God! Her voice was brisk now as she said, ‘Well, you can go out later and help, but now there’s this
room to clean up and the beds to be made.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll do me inside work, Ma, I needn’t go out until this afternoon. But as long as I can go out for a bit.’

  ‘That’s all right then. Get on with it.’ …

  And Annie got on with it. She had worked hard all morning, as Emma saw when she came in to make the dinner. She had even taken out the ashes, a chore she hated doing; but she hadn’t attempted to blacklead the stove, she couldn’t stand the sight of blacklead because of the mess it made on her hands. But by three o’clock in the afternoon it was impossible to see a finger before you, so thick was the snow falling. And now a wind had got up and part of the yard was as clear as if it had been swept by a broom while there were drifts six foot high against the barn and the byres.

  Peering out of the window, Emma said, ‘You can’t go out in this. You’d get lost.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Ma. Anyway, I won’t go that far to get lost, I’ll just walk round the yard or to the chicken run. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go and see if they’re all right over there, will I?’

  ‘You could fall into a drift, girl.’

  ‘Oh Ma, fall into a drift goin’ to the chicken run! Anyway, if I did I could scream and you would hear me.’ She laughed, and then she stood staring at Emma while she picked at the nails of one hand with the fingers of the other.

  Emma had never seen her do this before and she said, ‘What’s the matter with your hand?’

  Annie quickly drew her hands apart, looked at them and said, ‘Nothin’ Ma, only I…I’ve got a snagged nail.’

  ‘Well, take the scissors and cut it off, don’t stand picking it like that. Go on now.’

  Annie went to the table drawer and took out a pair of scissors and with these she clipped at her nail. Then swinging round, she faced Emma, saying, ‘I must get out for a little while, Ma, I feel choked up, I want air.’