As she walked over the courtyard towards the arch, she glanced, not at the kitchen door, but at the window above it, and she thought, As bad as you were you weren’t all wrong. No, you weren’t all wrong …
The rooms above the stables were comfortable and homely. There wasn’t a bed for her but they made her a shakedown in the kitchen, and although she hadn’t had a proper meal since yesterday she still couldn’t eat. But when George gave her a good measure of hot whisky and water, and black sugar, she drank it gratefully.
A short while later she lay staring up into the blackness. Her mind seemed empty. Her whole being seemed empty. She didn’t know at what time she fell asleep.
She woke the next morning with George shaking her gently by the shoulder and saying, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Emily?’
‘Oh! Oh. Aye. Yes. Yes, please.’ She pulled herself into a sitting position and her hands shook as she took the mug from him.
‘How you feelin’?’ he asked.
She thought a moment. The picture of what had happened last night was as clear in her mind now as if she were still on the hillside standing in the light of the fire, and every action of hers that had preceded the fire was clear in her mind too. She looked at George now and she said, ‘I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t mean burning the bits and pieces, but sayin’ what I did to him. They jeered him; they’ll give him hell now. I shouldn’t have done it.’
‘Devil’s cure to him, I say. He’s asked for all he’s got. I was for him when I first came, but when I found out things an’ the game he was playin’ with you, oh, I quickly went off him. He’s no good, Emily. You told him the truth, and so you have no regrets about it, oh no. They would give him hell in any case, for Farmer Rowan’s boots haven’t got the sweat out of them yet, and he couldn’t jump into them quick enough. That alone has got their backs up. An’ you were right, Miss Lizzie Rowan’ll wear the pants. Her mother’s not a bad sort, but she’s a tough piece. Aw, don’t you worry your head, Emily; have no regrets. But you did something last night that’ll be remembered for many a year to come. Now just you take it easy this mornin’. What time do you want to go in?’
‘As soon as you’re ready, George. But there’s one thing I’d like to do afore I go.’
‘What’s that, Emily?’
‘I’d like to walk up the hill once more by meself. And another thing, George. Me cat. It must’ve got frightened with the fire and ran off. I was going to bring it with me. If I can’t see it, would you have a look out for it?’
‘Aye, yes. Don’t worry your head about it. I’ll bring it down here; one more won’t make any difference. An’ by the way, Jenny’s over at the house but she’ll have the breakfast ready in about half an hour or so.’
‘Thank you, George.’
When he had gone, she rose stiffly from the couch, put on her skirt and blouse, washed herself in the scullery; then donning her hat and coat, she went quietly out.
She saw no-one as she crossed the farmyard, nor as she crossed the courtyard. She stood for a moment and gazed at the front of the house. She hoped Mr Stuart would find happiness here, even if he had to live alone. Yet he didn’t seem a man who should be alone. She was glad he was away. What would have happened if he had come up the hill last night, she didn’t know; perhaps he would have got her down before Larry came, because he was that kind of a persuading man. And then she wouldn’t have spilled her mouth open in front of everybody. She was sorry for that, yes, she was.
She walked slowly along the road towards the stile. She felt very tired. Her limbs were heavy, almost as heavy as her heart. She crossed the stile, went through the copse and towards the old bridge; then picking up a piece of wood that was somewhat pointed, she walked along by the bank of the narrow burn until she came to the hawthorn tree to the left of her. From it she took three steps parallel to the burn. Here was a small mound of shaly earth, and at the front of it she started raking.
Her heart began to beat rapidly when after uncovering about six inches of the shale she couldn’t see the parcel; but when her now frantic efforts reached a depth of twelve inches or more and the point of the wood unearthed the piece of brown hessian she had wrapped the box in, she sat back on her heels and closed her eyes and let out a long drawn breath. She hadn’t realised she had buried it so deep.
Tenderly now, she unwrapped the hessian and gazed down at the red leather box. It was slightly stained where the water had soaked through the outer cover. Then she pressed the little spring, and there it was, bright and beautiful…and delicate. Yes, that was the word for it, delicately beautiful. She touched it where it lay on the folded letter she had inserted at the bottom of the box. She wished she could keep it.
Don’t be silly. The admonition brought her to her feet, and she roughly scraped some of the shale back into the hole with her foot. Then putting the box inside her blouse, she walked back to the old bridge. But she didn’t go up the hill towards the cottage for that, she told herself, she never wanted to see again as long as she lived; nor the hills. And the cat would be all right, George would see to it …
She said goodbye to Jenny at ten o’clock; she thanked her warmly and told her that some day she might be able to repay her and George for their kindness to her; and Jenny wept a little and spontaneously they kissed and parted.
Sitting beside George in the front of the trap, they drove through the village. The few people who were about turned and looked at her; but there was a different expression on their faces now; she imagined that one or two might have even smiled at her had she glanced directly their way. But she didn’t, for she didn’t want their smiles now, they had come too late.
When the trap stopped in Fellburn market she repeated her thanks to George. He held her hand and, looking into her eyes said, ‘I’ll always have a feeling for you, Emily, you know that. And what I also know is that you’ll pull through. You know what you said to me the first day when I came to the farm footsore and weary? You planted the first square meal afore me that I’d seen in weeks, an’ you said, “Get that into you, and you’ll find your feet here.” Well, you’ll find your feet an’ all, Emily. Goodbye, lass.’
‘Goodbye, George.’ She was too full to say any more. She turned about and walked away from the life that had begun in this market place three years ago and was now ending here.
PART SEVEN
FULL CIRCLE
One
‘And you mean to say you set fire to the lot of it?’
‘Aye, Aunt Mary; yes, I set fire to the lot of it.’
‘My God, lass, what a thing to do! You should have carted it down here; it was worth a bit that stuff. Even I knew that.’
‘Not really, Aunt Mary; only the three bits that he wanted.’
‘You think so?’
‘Yes, I’m sure of it.’
‘And you say they swarmed up from the village and thereabouts?’
‘Yes. Yes, they swarmed up from the village and thereabouts. It was like Mafeking night.’
‘And you say he came?’
‘Yes, he came.’
‘And what did you say to him?’
Emily paused for a moment and turned her head to the side before she replied, ‘Things best left unsaid, but nothing I could say to meself when I saw him made any difference. I had to hit him with something, and I had only me tongue to do it with, so I told him what I thought about him, an’ I didn’t mince me words.’
‘Good for you, lass. I only wish I’d been along o’ you, for he was an upstart swine if ever I saw one. I know what he thought of me’—Mary wagged her finger at Emily now—‘blowsy, dirty old faggot. I could see it in his eyes. An’ he never asked me if I had a mouth on me. I wasn’t expectin’ a drop of the hard stuff, but me tongue was hangin’ out for a cup of tea. Well, lass, all I can say is you’re well rid of him. Did you manage to bring the watch with you?’
‘Yes, yes, I did, Aunt Mary.’ Emily patted her chest.
‘And what did Mr Stuart say about all t
his?’
‘Nothing; he wasn’t there I’m glad to say, he was away on holiday.’
‘Well, there’s one thing I do know, if he had been there you wouldn’t be here now.’
‘Oh yes, I would, Aunt Mary.’ Emily shook her head slowly but with emphasis. ‘I want no truck in that direction, in fact any direction. All I want is some way to make a living. And I’ve got the means here.’ She again patted her chest.
‘Aye, lass, you have that. Will you set up house on your own?’
‘Yes; I mean to go back to Shields an’ have a look round.’
‘Will you bring Lucy home again?’
‘I’ve been thinkin’ about that, Aunt Mary, but…but somehow I don’t think it would be fair, she’s very happy where she is. In her last letter she said this Miss Rice was being discharged and was going home and she wanted to take her along with her, and what did I think about it. I wrote back and said I thought it was a good thing…No, I don’t think Lucy would want to come back now. She’s tasted a different kind of life; I can read atween the lines.’
‘Aye, it’s often the way. When they leave home and see how the other half lives they take to it. And who’s to blame them. Well, lass, drink up your tea and let me say here and now, this house is your home as long as you care to make it so. I won’t ask you to sleep in it, though, because there’s no comfort sleeping on a shakedown, but Mrs Pritchard across the way’ll put you up.’
‘Thanks, Aunt Mary, it’ll just be for a night or two. I’m…I’m going into Newcastle now to see the jeweller about the watch; I’m taking Mr Stuart’s letter with me to prove it’s all above board.’
‘Aye, I’d do that, I’d get it out of me hands as quick as possible if I was you. It’s a lovely piece of jewellery, I’ve never seen a bonnier, but it’ll bake no bread for you…aw lass, don’t cry. Don’t cry.’
‘No, I’m not, Aunt Mary; no, I’m not going to cry.’
No, she wasn’t going to cry, but she wished she could, for then she might get rid of this great lump that was blocking her chest. But tears, like laughter, had gone from her. Her eyes seemed filled with sand, and her heart with lead.
Mr Goldberg said almost the same words as her Aunt Mary had: ‘It’s a beautiful piece, miss, but you’d rather have the money?’
‘Yes, if you don’t mind.’
Emily was sitting in a room at the back of the jeweller’s shop. It was a very comfortable room. It had a deep red carpet on the floor and was furnished with two leather chairs and a leather-topped desk, and the walls were lined with bookcases. Mr Goldberg was a small man with a thin face, but he had a pleasant expression.
When she had entered the shop she had said to the young man behind the counter, ‘Are you the owner?’ and after surveying her for a moment he had answered primly, ‘I am Mr Goldberg’s assistant; what can I do for you?’ and she had replied, ‘I would like to see Mr Goldberg himself, please.’
When Mr Goldberg stood before her at the opposite side of the glass-topped counter and said ‘Yes, madam, how can I assist you?’ she said, ‘Mr Nicholas Stuart bought a watch here some time ago on a certain understanding.’
‘A watch, madam?’
‘Yes, yes, a fob watch, a jewelled fob watch.’ She now opened her bag and held out the case towards him and watched his face lighten as he said, ‘Oh yes, yes; that watch. Yes, yes; of course. Would you please?’ He now lifted his hand and indicated the end of the counter, and she walked round it and through the door he held open for her, and he seated her in one of the leather chairs before he went behind the desk and sat himself down. Then he leaned towards her, saying quietly, ‘Mr Stuart, yes, he indicated that you might at some time want to sell the article again.’
‘And you said you would buy it?’
‘Yes, yes, I did, madam; and I’ll be only too pleased to purchase it from you when we come to an arrangement…an amicable arrangement.’ His smile broadened and he held out his hand, and she placed the case in it.
She watched him lift the watch out and lay it across his palm. He did it gently, she thought, as someone would who was handling a rare flower, or a newborn child. Her mind shied away, she didn’t like to think of newborn children—it was then he made the remark about it being a beautiful piece. His voice was soft now as he went on, ‘I have never seen a finer. It would be very interesting to know its complete history.’
‘Yes, yes, it would be,’ she said.
‘From what little I gathered from Mr Stuart I understand it was left to you as a gift by…by a gentleman.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ Her face was unsmiling.
‘And when you were in dire straits you asked a certain person to sell it for you?’
‘Yes, yes, I did.’
‘And that person misled you as to what he had got for it?’
Now she merely nodded her head.
‘Twenty pounds, I understand?’
‘Twenty pounds,’ she repeated.
His face was grave as he said, ‘It’s a pity you didn’t decide to prosecute. And I made my views known to Mr Stuart. But I can assure you’—now he smiled—‘I can assure you you’ll get much more than twenty pounds this time.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I can offer you, say, two hundred and fifty pounds. How is that?’
She stared back at him. The price on the watch in the window had been four hundred and twenty-five guineas; which she had already calculated as four hundred and forty-six pounds five shillings. That meant he was giving her little over half. Two hundred and fifty pounds was still a fortune and she was about to say, ‘Thank you very much,’ when he laughed and said, ‘I don’t know if your silence means you’re going to bargain with me or not.’
She had not thought about bargaining with him; it had never entered her head until he had mentioned it. Mr Stuart had said he was a fair man and so she supposed that in the course of business two hundred and fifty pounds was a fair offer, but she heard herself saying, ‘The price on it in the window was four hundred and twenty-five guineas.’
‘It was, it was indeed, madam, four hundred and twenty-five guineas.’ He pursed his lips and wagged his head at her. ‘So shall we not beat about the bush? I am in business, I have to make a fair profit. Now, now’—he wagged his finger jokingly at her—‘don’t say that I have already sold it once and made a fair profit, I know, I know.’
She found herself smiling back at him now, and when he said, ‘All right, I’ll take a straight hundred, three hundred and forty-six pounds…and five shillings,’ he laughed.
She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and swallowed before she could say, ‘That is quite, quite acceptable.’ She thought her reply sounded sort of good, educated like.
‘The bargain is sealed then?’
‘Yes, it is sealed.’
‘How would you like the money? Have you a banking account?’
‘No—’ She paused before adding, ‘Not as yet.’
He looked at her straight for a moment before saying, ‘Then may I suggest you open an account with a bank?’
‘Would…would you be kind enough to recommend one?’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘And…and would it be possible to have the forty-six pounds in cash please?’
‘Again, of course.’ He was nodding his head at her.
‘Thank you.’
He was in the middle of writing out the cheque when, his eyebrows moving upwards, he looked at her from under his lids as he said, ‘How is Mr Stuart these days?’
She stared back at him as she read behind the question, and she kept her voice level and her face straight as she answered, ‘Very well; he…he’s on holiday in Paris at the moment.’
‘Oh, in Paris. Good, good.’ He was writing again. Then as he blotted the cheque he said, ‘Very nice gentleman, very nice indeed. And he has an eye for good pieces.’ He now opened a drawer, took out a handful of sovereigns, counted them, then placing them in a chamois bag, he stood up and ca
me round the desk, and when she got to her feet he handed her the cheque and the bag saying, ‘You’ll find those correct I think, and I hope, madam’—he was bending towards her—‘as your fortunes change, as I am sure they are about to do, you will honour us with your custom, whether it is buying or’—he waved his forefinger in a flowing motion back to the desk and the watch—‘selling.’
She found herself smiling at him again as she said, ‘Yes, if I should want anything in the jewellery line I shall certainly come to you, Mr Goldberg. And…and thank you for your fairness towards me.’
‘It has been a pleasure, madam.’
She was about to go towards the door when she stopped and took one last look at the watch lying across a piece of velvet set at the side of the writing pad, and she felt an urge to go and touch it and bid it a personal farewell. She turned and looked at Mr Goldberg and he said quietly, ‘Who knows, madam, but at some future date it may be in your possession again.’
She said nothing to this but went on through the shop and to the door, and it was Mr Goldberg who opened it for her, with the parting words, ‘Good day, madam, and good fortune go with you.’
Good fortune go with her. What he meant was, I hope you become a mistress to a rich man. He imagined that’s what she had been to Mr Stuart, but that it was now over. Yet such was the way he had put it she hadn’t felt insulted. And anyway, who was she to feel insulted by anyone suggesting she should be a mistress to a man, for hadn’t she been that for the last two years? But the name they had given her roundabout hadn’t been as fancy as mistress, she had been known by such names as, Birch’s piece, or his fancy woman. Well, there was one thing she was sure of, never in her life again would she earn that title …
An hour later she came out of a bank. The manager himself hadn’t shown her to the door but, nevertheless, he had been very civil when he understood that she wanted to deposit a cheque for three hundred pounds with him. ‘Open an account’ was the way he put it. At the same time, he hadn’t been as civil as Mr Goldberg in that he had taken stock of the way she was dressed and had tempered his courtesy accordingly. She thought that it shouldn’t have mattered to him if she had come in a sack as long as she was putting money into his business.
The Tide of Life Page 43