Her eyes, wide in a petrified gaze, were now peering through the mesh of a net and into a face, and she knew the face. There were other figures at each side of her holding her arms tight to the ground. She wanted to yell out in agony because one forearm was being bent over a rut in the path.
She couldn't believe this was happening to her until Hal McGrath, his breath fanning her face now, said between gasps, "You've got some fight in you, skinny as you are, that's your choppin" "n"
sawin', I'll ... I'll put that to use an'
all. Now listen ... listen, Tilly Trotter.
I asked you squarely, I wanted to court you proper, I gave you a chance but you'd have none of it.
Well now, you wouldn't take it the decent way, you'll take it t'other an' when your belly's full I'll come an' claim me own. Your two old
"uns won't last much longer, then what'll you do?
You know what happens to lasses who get taken down, it's the house or the whore shop. ... Go
... God Almighty!"
This exclamation was wrenched from him as Tilly, gathering every fraction of strength she had left in her body, surprised them all by getting one leg free from under the side of McGrath's body and, twisting herself, brought her knee up with all the force she could muster into McGrath's groin, so causing him for a moment to release the pressure on her mouth; and now, her strong teeth going through the net dug into the side of his hand.
"You bloody vixen you! God!" He thrust his double fist between his legs. Then as the men on each side of him scrambled to hold her thrashing limbs she let out another blood-curdling scream.
But this was throttled at its height by a hand again clapping itself over her mouth.
And now McGrath was growling, "Get the net off her; it'll be here and now. By God! it will. It will."
When her skirt was flung over her head the hand left her mouth and again she screamed, but once more the wind was knocked out of her body.
It was as somebody laughed that she cried from the essence of her soul "Oh God! No! No! No!
Please. No! No! No!" and it was as if instantly He had heard her prayer, for her hands were released and she heard a voice that hadn't spoken before gabbling, "Somebody comin". Hal! Hal man!
stop. Stop! somebody comin'. A horseman an'
more than one about somewhere, I know, I know, I can hear
"em. Let's be gone! Let's be gone!" Then another voice, full of panic now said, "Give over, Hal man. Listen, they're comin". I'm off. I'm off."
The next minute the weight was wrenched from her.
She lay inert, the skirt and petticoats still over her head, her body trembling from head to foot, aware of her indecent appearance yet not able to exert the strength needed to pull her clothes down and see what was happening about her.
She had a strange feeling on her and felt that she must be going to faint. But she had never fainted before, only ladies fainted, and then only when in church. Dimly she was aware of the sound of thuds and groans and curses and of horses' hooves trampling quite near her. She heard a woman's voice and a man's voice, both strange, then her skirt and petticoats were pulled down from her face and her shoulders were brought upwards, and the woman was saying, "Really! Really! They're savages!
Hadn't I just said they were savages." Then turning to the man, she said, "Stop him before he kills him, whoever he is."
Mark Sopwith now ran towards where Simon had Hal McGrath pressed against a tree, his fingers around his throat, while McGrath's hands were gripping the wrists in an endeavour to free himself.
"Leave go! Leave go, man! you'll choke him to death. Leave go, I tell you!" Mark Sopwith brought the side of his hand sharply down across Simon's forearm, and as if a spring had released his hands Simon dropped them away from McGrath's throat and stumbled backwards.
His face was bleeding from a cut above his eye; the sleeve of his wedding coat was wrenched partly from the shoulder. His head thrust forward, his hands hanging limply by his side now, he stood gasping, his eyes tight on McGrath who, with hands clutching his own throat, sidled drunkenly from the tree.
It was Mark Sopwith who spoke now. Peering through the dusk he said in some surprise, "You're McGrath, aren't you, the blacksmith at the mine? Yes. Yes. Well! I'll deal with you later. Now get! Clear out. Go on!"
Hal McGrath didn't immediately obey the order but, looking from one to the other of the men, he said,
"'Twas nought to do with either of you, nowt! I was courtin' her. 'Twas family business, courtin'."
"And her screaming her head off? Go on, on your way before I myself decide to have a go at you. And by the way"--he held up his hand"...show yourself at the office on Monday; my manager will have something to say to you."
McGrath's face twisted as he stared at the mine owner; then muttering curses, he turned from them.
Both men now went to where Tilly was still sitting on the ground, but Lady Myton was no longer bending over her. she was standing dusting her gloved hands together. Looking towards them, she said, "She's got the shakes, she's been badly frightened."
Simon passed her without a word and, dropping on to his hunkers at Tilly's side, he put his arm around her shoulders, saying hesitantly,
"Are... are you all right?"
The words "all right" had a twofold meaning, and after a moment, as if she were considering, she moved her head slowly downwards.
"Come on, I'll get you home."
When he lifted her gently to her feet her legs threatened to give way beneath her and she leant against him, her head pillowed on his breast.
"The farmer, isn't it?"
Simon turned and peered at Lady Myton, but he gave her no answer, just stared at her as she continued, a chuckle in her voice now, "It's your wedding day, I understand. What brought you here, you couldn't have heard her screaming from your farm?"
"No, me lady, I didn't hear her screaming from my farm"--his words were slow and heavy--"I was warned of what was going to happen to her."
"Oh, and you got here just in time ... I think so anyway."
"Come." He now turned from them and led Tilly towards where his horse was standing calmly munching at the grass on the side of the bank, and after he had lifted her on to its bare back he turned his head and looked towards Mark Sopwith, saying, "Thanks.
Thanks for your help, sir."
"I was no help, except to stop you killing him.
You just could have you know."
"Pity I didn't." He now bent his knees, then with a heave of his body
he, too, was sitting astride the horse, his arms around Tilly gripping the reins. Slowly he urged the animal forward and when it passed Lady Myton he did not look towards her or give her any word of farewell, although she was standing looking up at him... .
Mark Sopwith went back along the road and, gathering up the reins of the two horses which had also been contentedly munching at the grass on the bank, he brought them forward, and when he reached Lady Myton she lifted her gaze from the departing figures and, looking at him, she said, "Well!
Well! an interesting interlude." Then after a moment's pause she added, "The interruption came at a most crucial part of our conversation.
If I remember rightly"--her head drooped to one side now--"you were about to extract your winnings, Mr Sopwith."
As he handed her the reins of her horse he could scarcely make out the outline of her face but he knew that she was laughing at him, and he also knew that she didn't think he would be ungentlemanly enough at this stage to, as she said, extract his winnings from her.
Well, she was mistaken for there would be no better time than the present, nor place for that matter, to prove her wrong, and if it lay with him he would extract his winnings to the full before the night was out because she had led him a dance. It was as if she had been in a position all evening to watch his every move for when, disgruntled, he had been making his way home she had stepped out on him, elegantly straight in the saddle, some little distance from the Flat
, and what she had said was, "Good-evening, Mr Sopwith. were you looking for me?"
When, having dismounted, he had gone to her she had extended her arms towards him and he had helped her down from the saddle. Having lifted her to the ground, he had kept his hold on her as he answered her, saying, "No, Lady Myton, you weren't even in my thoughts."
He had still been holding her, their faces close together, their eyes telling each other that a certain kind of relationship was about to begin, when a girl's scream brought them apart.
It could have been a girlish scream of delight, but neither of them was sure, and they waited for it to be repeated, then were about to resume their own affairs when it came again.
When he moved from her and held his ear cocked, she had enquired coolly, "What do you think it might be, some yokel causing his lady love to squeal with delight?"
"That was no squeal of delight."
A few minutes later another scream was abruptly cut off and so he
quickly helped her to mount, then turning in the direction of Billings Flat, he said, "Follow me."
"What? What did you say?"
He had turned towards her and said slowly, "I said follow me."
"Oh, I thought that was what you said."
He knew that she was annoyed, yet once they reached the scene in which the Trotter girl was involved her attitude changed, and he had the idea she had really been amused by it all.
And now she was awaiting developments. Well, he wouldn't keep her waiting any longer.
At the end of the Flat he took the reins from her and now quickly urged the horses towards a low bank.
Once up it, he doubled them back and now led them along the higher ground beyond the belt of trees that bordered the Flat.
Here the belt thinned out into saplings and scrub land, and after not more than a minute's walk he tied the horses to a tree, then turned and waited until she came stumbling towards him. He could see her face now. Her eyes were wide and filled with amusement, her mouth was laughing. She didn't speak, but he did and what he said was, "I'm ready for the prize-giving."
He knew that she was about to laugh and loud, but just as Tilly's scream had been smothered, so was her laughter now as he, putting his arms about her, swung her from her feet. The next minute they had both tumbled on to the ground, and there they lay staring at each other for a moment, but only for a moment.
As often happened in his life, the prize turned out in the end to be somewhat of a surprise holding a negative quality, because, whereas he knew who was master in the beginning, at the end he was not at all sure, and he was made to wonder how an elderly man like her husband coped with such passion, that was if he attempted to cope at all. Perhaps it was lack of his coping that made her so ravenous.
It had been a very unusual night, but strangely he wasn't feeling elated, not even temporarily happy.
As Simon helped Tilly into the cottage Annie, turning in her chair before the fire where she had been dozing, put her hands to her lips and muttered, "God in heaven! what's happened?"
In a matter of seconds she was pulling herself from the chair and glancing towards the bed where William was now easing himself on to his side, his face showing the same amazement as hers, and turning, she said again,
"What is it. What is it? What's happened?"
She was now standing in front of Tilly, and Tilly, throwing herself into the old woman's arms, began to sob, spluttering as she did so, "Oh Gran! Gran!"
Holding her tightly, Annie looked up at Simon, at his blood-smeared face and at his rent coat, and in a voice that was a mere whisper she asked him again, "What's happened, lad?
What's happened you? And why are you here this night of all nights?"
Simon, dropping into a chair at the side of the table, didn't answer her directly, but looking towards William, he said, "Doesn't take long in the telling. McGrath tried to take her down, the dirty bugger! But besides that, he netted her in order to do it."
"Netted her?" William's face was screwed up.
"Aye, you know the old game, the net slung up atween a couple of accommodatin' trees, with a slip knot and a pole. The last time I heard of it being used was years ago when they wanted to trap a good pony. Safer way than chasing your guts out across the moor."
"Netted her?" William looked towards where his beloved child, as he thought of her, was now sitting crouched low on a cracket before the fire, and Annie, standing by her side, stroking her hair. "God above! if I only had the use of me legs."
He turned his head now and looked at Simon and ended, "They'll stop at nothin', they're so sure it's here."
"Yes, William, yes, they're sure it's here."
They both started somewhat and Annie actually stumbled backwards as Tilly, swinging her body round from the stool, cried now, "What's here? He isn't only after me, it's somethin' else and ... and I've got a right to know; after tonight I've got a right to know. Granda!"-she appealed to him, her head thrust out and falling to the side and the tears raining down her face--"this business of the money, I've a right to know."
There was silence in the room for a moment, except for the wind blowing down the chimney, and when the fire hissed and the log of wood parted in the middle and dropped gently away to each side of the hearth, William, lying back on his pillow, drew in a short painful breath before he said, "Aye, aye, lass, you've got a right to know. But I think you've had enough for one night, we'll talk about it the morrow."
"No, no, you're always sayin' never put off till the morrow what can be done the day, or the morrow never comes, or some such. The morrow, you'll have another excuse. And you an' all, Gran," she said, her voice breaking as she now turned and looked at her grandmother.
Annie bowed her head as if against a piercing truth.
"Come; sit down." Simon had risen from the chair and now, his arm about her shoulders, he brought her to the end of the table and pressed her down into a chair that was facing the bed, and he said, "Go ahead, William; or...or shall I tell her as I know it?"
William's eyes were closed, his head was turned slightly away as he muttered, "Aye, Simon; aye, "tis best."
Simon now pulled his chair towards the end of the table and, sitting down, he leant his forearm on it and looking at her, where she had turned her face half towards him, he said, "It's some thirty years this August. That correct, William?"
William made no verbal reply; he merely acknowledged with a small movement of his hand, and Simon went on, "Well, it was on this summer's day, a Sunday it was, your granda there was taking the air because that was the only day in the week the pitman had to himself. He had walked a good way and was hot and tired and he lay down amidst some gorse and dozed off. Now, as your granda said, when he heard the commotion beyond the gorse he lay still thinking it was a courting couple having a tussle. But then he realised he wasn't listening to a tussle but to a man gasping as if he were struggling with something heavy.
Your granda then turned on his side and carefully edged himself along by the scrub until he could see just beyond it. Well, he found himself looking on to part of the fell that was covered with boulders; he had just earlier on become acquainted with these boulders when he had walked in between them before coming to the grassy patch where he had lain down, and what he saw then stretched his eyes, so he's told me many times, and I can believe him, for there was McGrath, Hal McGrath's father you know, who was blacksmith in the village then as he still is today, struggling with one of the outcrops of rock. Eventually he moved it; but he moved it in the direction in which your granda was looking, so he couldn't see what was going on beyond. But after a time, Big McGrath struggled with the rock again and placed it where it was before, then straightened up, dusted his hands, and walked calmly away into the fading light.
"Your granda there"--Simon now nodded towards the bed--"was naturally set to wondering. He stayed where he was for some time to let McGrath get well away, then he went round and examined this great lump of rock. And he marvelled that any one m
an could move it. He himself tried but he couldn't even rock it. Then your granda got to thinking.
"Well, things were very bad in the country about this time; jobs were scarce; farmers, such as my father, had had to dismiss some of their hands because of taxation and the like; the whole country was in a state of unrest. We think it's bad enough now but around that time two men not a mile from this spot were sent to Botany Bay for stealing a sheep. One of them had lost two children in three months through starvation; but that was no excuse, he was lucky to get off with his life. The village, our village, was one of the hardest hit around these parts because half of the workers were on the land and four farmers went broke within one year. There were near riots. You know the big houses that still lie between here and Harton village, well, they used to put guards round them at nights with dogs to stop the peasantry, as they called them, raiding the vegetable gardens or the chicken runs. It had been said there wasn't a rabbit to be seen between Westoe village and Gateshead not for many a year. ... So how, your granda asked himself, did the McGraths always appear to manage, always appear to be well fed and well shod, because fewer farms meant not only fewer farm workers but also fewer horses to be shod and Big McGrath worked the forge himself. The Rosier mine and Sopwith's had their own blacksmiths, so how did it come about that the McGraths were not only surviving but surviving well? The answer, your granda considered, lay under this stone. But how to move it?
"Now you knew, didn't you, William?"--he inclined his head towards the bed--"that should you go into the village and ask one of your neighbours to come and help you find out what McGrath had hidden under that stone, and should the findings show money, because money was the only thing that bought food in those days, for people had nothing left to exchange; well, you knew that should they help themselves the change in their fortunes would soon be noticed."
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