When Patsy had carried her back into the yard it was found she had two pellet shots in her thigh, and, in the words of one of the Hollow men, ‘The fat woman howled like any banshee at the sight of her wee creature.’
Fanny still remembered holding the soft little body of Sophia, aiming to alleviate her pain, which she apparently succeeded in doing, for the little dog ceased whining as Ward extracted the pellet from its leg. Then to her amazement, when the dog’s leg was bandaged and it once again lay in the arms of its mistress, Mrs Killjoy not only ceased her wailing but addressed her in a voice that all could hear, crying, ‘I rue the day I was the means of bringing you to this house, for there’s evil in it, and all about it. And I might tell you that Mr Killjoy said the same thing. He prophesied to me that Ward would have to pay for you till the day he died. That was after you found your dear Pip missing. And what had happened to him? Shot dead. Yes, there is evil about this house.’ And in the ensuing shocked silence she had mounted the trap. And so she had gone out of their lives.
She recalled now the scene when they had found Pip. He, too, had been shot with an airgun, but in the head. However, what was worse, he had been found by Phil Steel, one of the colonel’s yardsmen. And Ward’s reaction had been to tear over to the Hall and accuse the colonel of shooting his wife’s dog. The colonel, of course, always peppery, said he hadn’t been out shooting for days; but if Ward didn’t get off his land he would start immediately.
This altercation had resulted in a surprise, for the following day Fanny had a visit from Lady Lydia herself. She had called to say she was so sorry that the little dog had died and also to assure Mrs Gibson that neither the colonel nor any member of the staff had been out shooting for days. She had gone on to praise Mrs Gibson’s two fine daughters, and how like her mother the younger one was. And wasn’t it strange, the characteristics of children? There was her own son whose features were like those of his father, but whose character was more like her own: he didn’t like shooting of any kind. And confidentially, she had added with a smile, this angered the colonel, for being an army man, shooting was his business, so to speak. But having a son who didn’t enjoy killing of any kind caused a clash of temperaments.
Fanny recalled how she had agreed on the last point with Lady Lydia. And after she had thanked her Ladyship for being kind enough to call, that lady had assured her she had been desirous of making her acquaintance for a long time, and she hoped that now she would be permitted to call, and they had drunk a cup of tea together in the sitting room.
And so it might have been thought that when the news got through the village that Lady Lydia was visiting Ward Gibson’s wife, it would have been the signal for all further petty irritations to cease. The reverse, however, was the case. If anything, they increased: gates were opened, cattle strayed, stays were pulled up, even gaps were made in drystone walls, the incidents always being perpetrated at night-time. It was impossible to keep watch on every yard of fencing or walling all round the place. And when Ward exploded his chagrin to Fred or to his father, or to the blacksmith, demanding almost if one or the other could give him an inkling who was at the bottom of this, he would be answered simply by a silent shaking of the head. It was as if they were tired of his ranting, or, as he put it to Billy, they knew who it was and they wouldn’t let on. And to this, Billy had replied quietly, ‘Aye, likely.’
At times Fanny had great difficulty in hiding her concern from Ward, for not only was she physically weak, but also her spiritual resistance seemed to have lessened. Especially since the episode with her dear friend, because Mrs Killjoy’s last words were forever in her mind. She, too, was being made to wonder if it would have been better for all concerned had she never come to this house, had never met Ward, and so had never experienced a man’s overpowering love, and for some time now she had faced up to the fact that it was overpowering. Her returning love, measured against it, was as something minute; and she knew it wasn’t good or healthy to be held in such high esteem and made to feel that she was incapable of any mean thought or action. To be put on such a plane caused her to feel less than human. However, she knew she could never make her husband understand this, for he saw her as being apart from all others.
‘Daddy doesn’t love me, not even a little bit.’
Fanny’s voice was stern now as, wagging her finger at her daughter, she said, ‘You must not say that, Jessie. It isn’t true.’
‘Oh, Mammy.’ The girl now rose from the bed and, standing with her face on a level with her mother’s, she leant towards her and asked pointedly, ‘Why do you lie like Carl? He lies all the time. He says he loves me but he loves Patsy better. Although he says he doesn’t love her, he does.’
‘Be quiet, Jessie. Be quiet this minute. All this silly talk about love. Now it has got to stop. Let me tell you something.’ She now reached out and gripped her daughter’s arm. ‘If Carl loves Patsy and Patsy loves him, it is quite a natural thing, because they are grown up. This happens when people are grown up. But you are not grown up and you shouldn’t be talking like you do.’
‘He said he didn’t love her.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Carl, he said he didn’t love her. I asked him.’
‘You had no right to ask him. I am finding you a naughty girl today, Jessie, and it is upsetting me. How do you expect people to love you when you are so naughty?’
‘I am naughty because nobody loves me and never has.’
Fanny closed her eyes. That the child should be thinking like this, talking of love in this way, was worrying. It was as if she were grabbing at it, wanting to tear it out of people. She herself had always shown her love. But then it wasn’t her love she needed, it was her father’s love, or Carl’s, a male love. She would have wished to refute any such thought connected with her daughter; yet, she knew that, deep within her mind, it had been born some time ago.
Two
It was a week later and there was no sign of the irate, love-starved girl as Jessie forked some of the last hay upwards to her father, near the top of the haystack at the end of the yard. She didn’t even seem to notice that Patsy was working near Carl, straightening out the ropes attached to the tarpaulin that would eventually cover the stack. The change had come on Thursday evening after her father had said to her, ‘How would you like to stay off school tomorrow and help me get the last of the hay in?’ He had not said, ‘Help us,’ but ‘Help me.’
For a moment she had been unable to answer, but then she had said, ‘Oh yes, Daddy. That would be lovely.’
And so on the following morning there was no need for either Billy or Carl to drive the sisters to school, or later in the day, to meet them coming out, which had been the protective procedure since they had started at the village school. So, all day yesterday Jessie had raked and carried hay. Angela had been there, too, but not accomplishing half the work her sister was showing she could do. And later, it had been a merry evening meal.
This morning she would have gone out before breakfast if Fanny hadn’t insisted that she eat a good meal, reminding her that there was a hard day’s work before her, the while thinking how simple the solution had been with regard to her daughter’s state of mind: her appealing to Ward to show his daughter a little personal attention, which he could do unobtrusively by suggesting the girl should have a day off school in order to help in the hayfield. She knew he would not immediately see the point of it all, but he complied with her wishes, even acting the part he didn’t feel. Yet, last night, he had to admit that the effort he had made had brought results, for it was a long time since he had seen his daughter so merry and talkative, at least in his company.
It was when the work was completed that Annie came into the yard, saying, ‘You all look like dustbins and it’ll be another half-hour, I should imagine, afore you get yourselves cleaned up an’ ready for a bite to eat, so why not have it like you are, outside, eh?’
It was the two girls who cried at once, ‘Oh, yes! Annie. Yes. We can hav
e it in the meadow.’
‘Oh, that’s too far to carry the stuff,’ said Annie. And at this Ward shouted back to her, ‘Well, you don’t expect us to sit on the yard or in the stubble fields, do you?’
‘That’s up to you,’ she said cheerfully. ‘And it’ll be all hands to the pumps. I’ll pack the baskets; but you’re not getting me across there, for me legs are worn off to the knees as it is.’
‘Aye, poor soul, it’s her age,’ and this coming from Billy caused a gale of laughter.
And there was more laughter when the girls went through the unusual procedure for them of washing under the pump; at least, sluicing their faces and hands.
In the kitchen the baskets were handed out to Carl and Patsy and the girls carried the cans of cold milk and equally cold beer; Ward brought the rugs from the blanket-box in the hall and a large cushion from the sitting room, the latter for Fanny’s benefit.
As he was passing through the kitchen, Annie said, ‘Here! They forgot the cloth,’ and loaded him further with a large check tablecloth.
‘Sure you’ll not join us?’ he asked her, and when she answered, ‘Me head would like to but me feet are contrary,’ he said, ‘Well, that’s your fault; you should put them up more. And don’t tell me you haven’t got the time. All right. All right.’ He shrugged away what remark she was about to make and went out and followed the small cavalcade along by the side of the barn, down by the field that had been turned into a vegetable garden, past the glasshouse that Fanny had not used for the past two years and which he had now turned into a forcing shed for plants, and into the field that had lain fallow for a year and now should have been covered with lush green grass. But the heat had yellowed it, except where it was shaded by the wood that marked the beginning of Colonel Ramsmore’s estate on this side of the Hall.
When Jessie’s voice came to him over the distance, calling, ‘Shall we lay it in the shade, Daddy?’ he shouted back, ‘Yes, of course, unless you want to cook. But wait, I’ve got the cloth.’
It was Patsy who, kneeling, spread the cloth and emptied the victuals from the basket; Fanny filled the mugs with either milk or beer, all but the last when, looking at Patsy, she asked, on a laugh, ‘Milk or mild for you, Patsy?’ And Patsy, smiling back at her, said, ‘Mild, mistress, please; I’ve seen all the milk I want to today.’
‘Oh, sour milk and rancid butter we’ll be having from now on,’ put in Billy, ‘now she’s taken to ale.’ And with this he pushed Patsy none too gently so that she toppled onto her side, and Jessie, laughing, helped to pull her upright again, so that Carl was made to wonder at the change in the girl. What a difference from this time last week, for she looked so happy; it was like a small miracle.
After they had eaten bacon and egg pie, hard-boiled eggs, crusty bread thickened with their own butter, and all had quenched their thirsts, in their separate ways they lounged in the cool shade of the trees: Ward lying stretched out alongside Fanny, who was sitting on her cushion, her hands joined round her knees and looking almost as young as her daughters who, too, were lying flat out on the grass; Billy had his back supported by a stake of the boundary fence, while Carl was resting on his elbow looking towards Patsy, who was sitting upright, her feet tucked under her. She was pulling a round stemmed grass between her teeth, her tongue licking at the white sap, looking to Carl like a picture he had seen hanging in one of the galleries in Newcastle. It was of a young Spanish girl in a red flowing gown. Patsy had no red flowing gown, but she was beautiful.
It was an idyllic scene. It was one of those moments they were all to remember, broken not by a human voice only by the sound of nature, a rustling of leaves from the wood and a drone of bees, with the ‘zimming’ of midges high up, portending still further fine weather. Then came a sound as if a small line of bees were parting the air and which ended on a cry from Fanny as something struck her temple and caused her to fall across Ward.
‘What is it? What is it?’ He was holding her as the others were rising to their feet.
She did not speak for a moment; then on a gasp, she said, ‘Something…something struck me.’ Her fingers were pressing at her temple, and Ward, on his knees now, raised her into a sitting position again.
It was Patsy who said, ‘’Tis a stone. Look!’ She pointed to Fanny’s skirt where, lying near the hem, was what appeared to be a large pebble.
Ward examined it as it lay on his palm. It was pointed at one end, flat at the other.
‘’Tis a catapult stone.’ It was a whisper from Billy.
‘What? God!’ Ward thrust the stone into the pocket of his breeches, then looked along the fence that bordered the wood. And Carl was doing the same as he cried, ‘They must be in the wood.’
‘Get your mistress back to the house, Patsy. Help her, girls!’ ordered Ward; then he was racing alongside the fence, with Carl running in the opposite direction, each looking for a place where he might get over the barrier of wired palings that fenced the boundary of the Hall, for in many parts the wire had become entwined between the many saplings, so forming an almost impregnable tangle.
Ward had to go to the very end of the field before he found a place over which he could climb. Then he was running through trees, zigzagging here and there and stopping now and again to listen for running footsteps.
The woodland opened out abruptly into a narrow field, crossing which was the path leading, in one direction, to the village and to the Hollow in the other, and bordering it on the far side was Morgan’s Wood. Presently, while he was standing still, two running figures appeared on the path. One was swinging a can, the other had something dangling from his hand, something he could not make out from this distance. But they were the culprits, he’d bet, Michael Holden’s grandsons. He’d had trouble with the young scamps before, jumping the walls and crossing right through the middle of his corn. By! When he got his hands on them. But he checked his thinking at this moment; surely, they couldn’t have got that far in this short time; they would have had to cut through the Hall’s private grounds. Well, they could have done that, and come out on to the path before it turned to the Hollow. Just wait till he got his hands on them.
He now turned as Carl’s voice hailed him: ‘Seen anybody?’
He returned to the fence, shouting, ‘The two Holden youngsters.’
As Carl put his hand out to help Ward over the fence, he said, ‘Oh, those two! They can use a catapult all right.’
Billy now arrived on the scene, saying, ‘You said the Holden youngsters? Where did you see them?’
‘Running down the path near Morgan’s Wood.’
‘That far? They’d have to be goin’ some to have got from here to there in that short space of time, don’t you think?’
‘Those two rips have got wings on their heels. But by God! They’ll need them if I get hold of them; another half inch and that stone could have put her eye out.’
The thought seemed to act as a spur for he now started to run, with Carl at his side …
Fanny was sitting in the kitchen holding a damp cloth to her temple and the girls and Patsy and Annie were standing around her. But she said immediately to Ward as he entered the kitchen, ‘Now, now, it’s all right. Don’t make a fuss. Only,’ she smiled now, ‘I’ll likely have a black eye in the morning.’
‘You could have lost your eye.’
After a pause, she said, ‘Well I didn’t, and don’t take it so seriously. It was someone’s prank.’
‘Someone’s prank, be damned! And look, don’t sit there. I think you should get upstairs and rest.’
‘Oh, Ward.’
‘Never mind “Oh Ward”. Come on.’ He pushed the others aside and drew her up, and as he led her from the room, Annie said, ‘Nice end to a picnic party, if you ask me.’ Then turning to Patsy, she went on, ‘Does your lot down there use catapults?’
‘No, our lot down there doesn’t use catapults.’ And the word was emphasised as if it had been fired from the instrument itself.
‘Don’t
you speak to me like that, miss.’
At this, Patsy tossed her head and went from the kitchen with Annie’s voice following her, saying, ‘It’s coming to something. By! that it is.’ Then she, too, went from the kitchen and up the stairs and, after tapping on the bedroom door, she opened it, to be greeted by Fanny saying, ‘Will you stop this silly man from making such a fuss, Annie?’
‘If you can’t stop him, ma’am, how d’you expect me to?’
‘Shall we send for the doctor, Daddy?’
Ward turned to answer his daughter, but any derisive remark was checked by Fanny, saying, ‘No, my dear. I don’t need a doctor. Look, you and Angela go downstairs and see if there is any way in which you can help Patsy and Carl. You could get the chickens in; being so hot, they won’t want to roost inside and who knows but Mr Fox may be passing by.’
Reluctantly, it would seem, the girls left the room, and as Annie followed them Ward pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down, saying, ‘First thing in the morning I’m going into that pub, not for ale, but to tell Mike Holden to take his hand to those two devils of his.’
The Maltese Angel Page 17