When she slipped into the water the chill of it brought her gasping and clutching at the bank. It was deeper than she had imagined and came well over her waist, but the bottom was hard and firm, and after a moment she walked forward; then standing quite still in the middle of the pool she peered about her. It was beautiful – the most beautiful spot she had seen in her life. If only Manuel had brought her before; if only she had been able to come here over the hot sticky nights during these past weeks. Of a sudden she found herself flapping at the water with her hands, splashing it over her shoulders and face. It was wonderful, wonderful. She walked to the bank again and, picking up the soap, began to lather herself. She had never felt so clean in her life, never, never. She was young again, alive. Oh, the wonder of it. The exquisite wonder of it. It was like the first time she had sat in the bath without wearing the blindfold. She shied away from the thought.
As she dried herself on the hessian towel which tonight did not seem to scratch her skin, there returned to her the memory of their first day together when she had seen him lying in the river and her indignation at the sight. She had changed since then, oh yes, yes indeed she had.
Dressed again, she made her way over the boulders, up the slope and into the clearing, but there was no sign of Manuel. She called softly, ‘Manuel! Manuel!’ and when she received no answer she became uneasy, for it was almost dark. Pushing quickly through the narrow passage she reached the pathway, and again she called his name. Louder this time. Where was he? Where had he gone? It would soon be black dark. ‘Manuel!’
‘Yes. Here I am.’ He came out of the shadows and along the path towards her. His hair was wet, and his shirt neck open to the waist. He had been in the water. She let out a long breath, then said, ‘You’ve . . . you’ve bathed then?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded at her. ‘I knew once you got in there you wouldn’t come out in a hurry.’
‘I . . . I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry.’ He was laughing down at her. ‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Oh, it was wonderful, wonderful.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I’ve never enjoyed anything so much in all my life, really I haven’t.’ When she looked at him again he was peering down at her, his expression soft as she remembered it from years past, and he said now, ‘You’re smiling. Do you know that, you’re smiling.’
And she was. She felt her cheeks were in an unusual position. Her face felt different, and not only her face, her whole body. She said solemnly, ‘I never thought I’d smile again, Manuel,’ and he replied, ‘Never is a long time.’
They walked in silence for some way and slowly, as if enjoying the meandering, and it was dark before they reached the field below the cottage, and there she said to him, ‘You must buy a bundle of candles when next you’re in town, because we’ll go through one a night with your lessons.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll do that.’
‘We have two candles left; we could start tonight.’
He slowed his step still more and half turned towards her. ‘But you’ve got to rise early, you want your sleep.’
‘I don’t feel tired now, in fact I’ve got the feeling that I’ll never feel tired again!’ She did not laugh, but made a little sound in her throat.
‘How long do you think it’ll take me to learn, I mean to be able to read?’
‘Oh.’ Her voice was light. ‘Not all that long, because you know, as you said, you can accomplish things in half the time it takes other men.’
His sudden laugh startled the hedge sparrows and sent them swarming over the field; then walking on, briskly now, he said, ‘That doesn’t apply to everything.’ And on this a thought sprang at him and he only just prevented it coming out of his mouth in words, for it would have said, ‘I wish to God it did.’ Yet the words in themselves mightn’t have conveyed anything to her; it would have been the regret in his tone that would have set off a train of questions and answers, and when, like most fuses, it eventually reached the gunpowder their association would have been shattered into fragments.
Three
It was half-past three on an ice-cold morning on 11 November 1866, and it was the day of the hirings.
The sheepskins had once more been made into a bag, which was already tied up on the table. Annabella’s bundle lay by its side and it was slightly bigger than when she last carried it for Mary Jane had, last night, given her three candles and some packages of food cribbed from the larder. There had been tears on both sides at the parting, but of the two, Mary Jane’s prospects looked the brighter, for she had informed Annabella that the master wanted a son but she was holding out until he put something in writing so that she and the bairns would be provided for – and not with workhouse fare either – if anything happened to him, and she knew he’d come round because he had a strong daft fancy for her; and once she was all right she’d see that Andy was an’ all.
Annabella admired Mary Jane because she was so full of common sense and so practical. But the thought of her association with Mr Skillen still made her feel sick.
Manuel now put the pack on his back and she lifted up the bundle and they went out, without a backward glance, into the bitter morning. Skillen had refused them a lift, saying there were too many cattle going in on the cart. He was mad at their leaving but couldn’t hold them as Manuel had remained firm in refusing to sign the bond, saying they’d be paid monthly or they’d go. There was a carrier cart that passed the toll road at six o’clock and if they kept going steadily they hoped to pick it up. They did not talk as they trudged through the dark, saving their breath for the long trek ahead. Anyway, there was no need for words at present; they had planned it all out last night what they intended to do when they got into Hexham and what they intended to say to their new employer, not only with regard to their working experience but to their relationship.
It was nine o’clock when the carrier cart put them down in Hexham and for a moment Annabella imagined they had been brought into the wrong town. Gone was the quiet, lazy air; everywhere you looked there were people, all merry, laughing, pushing people, families who evidently knew the town and were here for a day of merrymaking; pedlars, out to make money on this God-sent day, thrusting their wares into your face; others, grinning while looking slightly lost, being jostled here and there as they gazed up at the fine façades of the buildings.
Manuel paid the carter his sixpence charge and nodded knowingly when the man advised, ‘Look out for your pocket, lad, and your breeches, or you might find yourself the night hidin’ in the bushes.’
‘There is no fear of that,’ Manuel smiled as his hips unconsciously shifted the belt lying round his waist; then he asked, ‘What time will they start, I mean signing on?’ and the man replied, ‘Any time. I would stick around until you get fixed.’
‘Thanks. Goodbye.’ He nodded to the carrier. Then taking hold of Annabella’s arm he thrust himself and his pack sideways through the crowded street, pulling her after him. When they passed an inn the smell of the ale wafted towards him and he licked his lips widely with his tongue. If he had been on his own he would have pushed in there and downed a few mugs, if not for his throat’s sake then in order to celebrate his freedom, for although he might be bonded within the next few hours he had the sense of being his own man strong on him now; and again, if it wasn’t for her he doubted if he would tie himself to any man, winter or no winter.
When they came to another inn where they were passing mugs of beer over the heads of the customers, Annabella, jerking his arm to draw his attention, said, ‘If you want a drink of ale, Manuel, I’ll . . . I’ll wait.’
He glanced towards the crowded pavement outside the inn, then at her, and replied, ‘It’s no time to stop for ale, we’ll think about that when we get fixed . . . You dry?’
‘Yes, yes, a little; but I think it’s better to do as you say and . . . and get fixed.’
Th
e shops were all doing a roaring trade and there was the sound of a band playing in the distance. Manuel wondered how they would ever get into the market place if the crowds were as thick as this, yet when he eventually reached the market square he found there was some kind of order amid the chaos. Stopping a man, he asked, ‘Can you tell me where they’re doing the hirings?’ and the man, pointing, said, ‘Yonder, that side over there. Just take your stand and they’ll come to you.’
It wasn’t until they had taken their stand against a wall and at the end of a broken row of men and women, some standing alone, some standing together, that Annabella began to feel sick, sick with fear of being recognised, perhaps by a prospective employer, but more sick with humiliation for she was now viewing the whole scene as a modern slave market.
As she glanced about her, she saw the same look in all the eyes of those waiting. The look was apprehensive and, what was worse, some faces showed the long stamp of resignation. These were the older faces, lined, weatherbeaten, grey faces over which hope hung like a thin veil and despair a heavy cloak. The anxiety showed up these couples because these were the ones who pushed the pedlars away, who refused to look at the trays of gaudy trinkets, who weren’t amused by the toy monkeys on sticks, nor the live monkey that was now prancing on top of the organ grinder’s barrow, around which a crowd of children had gathered.
It was an hour later when the first employer showed up, by which time the line had trebled itself and, whereas they had appeared to be in the front row now they were at the back. This in a way lessened the tension in Annabella while she thought that it wouldn’t spoil their chances because Manuel stood head and shoulders above most of the men present. She wasn’t to know that his dark, foreign-looking appearance went against him among the conservative farmers.
Another hour passed and no man had stopped in front of them to question them, and Manuel said, more to himself than to her, ‘If we don’t get picked we’re not going back there; there’s factories in the town. I’ll get set on somewhere . . . Look, there he is coming this way with a grin on his face.’
When Mr Skillen pushed his way towards them and, casting his narrowed glance over Manuel, said, ‘No luck yet then? Be taking you back with me after all likely?’ Manuel said stiffly, ‘That you won’t, not if I know it.’
‘Ah, we’ll see, we’ll see. It’s going to be a hard winter and if you want to come through it you’ll be glad of any pickin’s.’
Manuel watched him walk away; he watched him stop before one couple after another and it gave him some satisfaction to see the heads always shaking, never nodding.
A man standing within arm’s length of them turned and asked, ‘You worked for old Skillen?’ and Manuel answered briefly, ‘For a time.’
‘Bloody old skinflint that, never gives more than six shillings and wants your blood.’
Six shillings, thought Manuel bitterly, and I did what I did for four.
Another hour gone. Annabella was leaning heavily against the wall. Her feet were numb to the ankles; she didn’t know whether she had any fingers on her or not. The crowd of employees had almost disappeared; you could always tell when a couple passed you whether they had been set-on because they would be talking and laughing. Some of the younger ones were even running, making for the fairground to push in a bit of enjoyment, something to remember in the long, dark months of labour ahead.
There were now not more than six couples left in the corner of the Square, and two single women and four single men.
Manuel had been stamping his feet to keep warm but now he was standing quite still, his eyes on the man threading his way from the far pavement. He was a big man, burly, and looked the typical pattern of a farmer. He wore a high black hat on a big head and his shoulders thrust their way forward, and when he came closer Manuel saw that his attire was good, highly polished leather gaiters up to the knee, fine stout boots, thick cords and a three-quarter length ribbed coat; although you could never go by looks, he told himself, this man was the most prosperous-looking farmer he had seen this morning. He watched the man’s eyes roam over the rest of the remaining employees. He saw him walk towards a couple and talk to them; the conversation ended without a nodding or shaking of heads. Then the man was moving forward looking over the remaining people as he would over a pen of cattle; and now he was standing before Manuel and it was Manuel who spoke first. ‘Good day, Sir,’ he said.
The bold face moved into a smile, the round blue eyes stared at him, then the man said, ‘And good day to you.’
And then he asked, ‘What are you? I’m looking for a cowman-cum-general hand and a woman for the house.’
Manuel, looking back into the blue eyes, thought, I can give this man the truth, and so he told him, ‘Six years as a groom, four months with cows.’
‘Pity it isn’t the other way round,’ said the man. ‘Where did you work last?’
‘Mr Skillen’s farm.’
‘Oh my God!’ The man laughed a deep, rumbling laugh now. ‘There’s one thing you will have learned there and that’s what work means. What did he pay you?’
‘Four shillings a week. I was hard put else I wouldn’t have taken it.’
‘You must have been at that. Well now, your woman here.’ He turned his glance to Annabella, then added, ‘Show us your face, girl.’
When Annabella pushed her hood back the man said, ‘Ah, you’re pretty. The missus likes something pleasant around her, but not as an ornament. What can you do? Cook?’
‘No, Sir, but . . . but I can clean, do housework, and in the dairy.’
‘She doesn’t want help in kitchen or dairy, she’s got that, it’s for housework she’s needing a body. My daughter’s getting married in a short while; she’s seen to it up till now. Well now.’ He looked at Manuel again. ‘I’m willing if you are. I’ll bond you for six months. Nine shillings a week to start with. If you’re worth ten you’ll get it at the end of the first month, and your missus two and six.’
‘We’ll . . . we’ll be very pleased to accept, Sir, but there’s a point I’ll have to make clear, she’s . . . she’s not my wife, she’s my cousin.’
‘Oh, cousin, eh. Well now, that’s a bit of an obstacle.’ He scratched his chin. ‘Cottage goes with the job, but being cousins, well, you couldn’t sleep there, could you?’ He poked his big head towards Annabella, bringing the colour to her frozen cheeks. Then, his brows gathering, he mused for a minute before saying, ‘Betty’s in the attic, but it’s big enough for two. Yes, one more palliasse will make no difference. Aye now, I think we can say that’ll be all right. What’s your name?’ He was looking at Manuel.
‘Manuel Mendoza, Sir.’
‘Foreign sounding; but then you are foreign, aren’t you? What? Italian?’
‘No, Sir, partly Spanish.’
‘And what’s the other part?’
‘Irish.’
‘Oh, Irish.’ They were smiling at each other now, as if at a joke.
‘And your name, girl?’
‘Annabella . . . Connelly.’
‘All right then, Manuel and Annabella, do you know where the Phoenix Inn is?’ and when Manuel answered, ‘Yes, Sir,’ he said, ‘Well, be outside there at two o’clock sharp; we’ve got a long ride afore us. Oh.’ His head went up and he laughed again. ‘I forgot to tell you where we’re going. It’s between East Allen Dale and Devil’s Water Glen, not as far as Blanchland. Lovely spot in the summer, never a finer, but a frozen prison in the winter. Better tell you.’
‘I’ll chance it, Sir.’ Manuel smiled, and the man jerking his head at him, said, ‘Good. Good,’ then moved away.
Now they were looking at each other, both smiling. Manuel said, ‘There goes a man after me own heart,’ and Annabella said, ‘He seems honest and straightforward, I . . . I hope I’m going to like his wife.’
‘A man like th
at wouldn’t pick a bad ’un. Come on, let’s try and get something to eat, though that’s going to be easier said than done. But if we manage it in time we may be able to pop into the fair.’ His smile widened and his voice was teasing as he asked, ‘Would you like to go on the shuggies?’
‘The shuggies?’
‘Yes, the shuggy boats, you know, the little boats that swing back and forward that the bairns love.’
‘Oh!’ Her head nodded as she comprehended the meaning of shuggies and her own smile widened as she said, ‘I don’t think so, Manuel, thank you. But I wouldn’t mind seeing the fair. I’ve never seen a fair.’
‘Never?’
‘No.’
‘Come on.’
It was only the heavy pack that stopped him from running as some of the young people had done earlier on. The clock chimed the half-hour past twelve as they left the Market and it was well past one o’clock when they found some place to eat, and then only standing up and wedged tight in the corner of a packed room.
When they had finished a plate of hot pies and peas Manuel left her for a moment, saying, ‘Stand on the pack and don’t let anybody take it unless they take you.’ His voice ended in a deep throaty laugh as he hoisted her up on to the skins; then he added, ‘Don’t sit down on it whatever you do or you’re likely to be trampled underfoot.’
He hadn’t been gone a minute when two young fellows, turning round and seeing her alone, edged their way towards her and, grinning at her, one of them said, ‘Hello, me bonny.’
When she made no reply the other one nudged his companion, saying, ‘She be tongueless, a pretty one like her and tongueless. Now ain’t that a shame . . . Do you think she’ll be tickleless an’ all, Sam?’
The Glass Virgin Page 27