A Dinner of Herbs (The Bannaman Legacy) Read online

  She again shook her head; then pulling her hands from his, she swung round, got onto her knees and stood up.

  She was slightly taller than him but he being of the breadth he was his head seemed to be on a level with hers, if not looking down on her. He said now, ‘Which way are you goin’? To Kate’s or back to the farm?’

  ‘Back to the farm.’

  ‘You’ve just come from Kate’s?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Well, something must have happened there. Is Roddy back?’

  At the sound of the name she turned her head away, then said, ‘No.’

  He looked down at the ground for a moment as if in bewilderment, then he said quietly, ‘Well, tell me, what’s upset you so?’ And there was a half smile now on his face as he added, ‘You know me, I’ll pry and pry till I get to the bottom of things.’

  ‘Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?’ For a moment she was her old self and he was Hal Roystan, someone she had never been able to stand. Yet a moment ago, he hadn’t seemed sarcastic or sneering, but thoughtful and concerned, not like himself at all.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, smiling widely now, ‘that’s more like Miss Mary Ellen.’

  ‘Oh, you!’ It was her favourite expression she used against him when she found that her tongue in no way could cap his remarks. And she turned to walk back along the ride.

  As he walked beside her, she said, ‘I’m…I’m all right. I can find my way back; I know it, you know.’ Her head was nodding at him now, and when she sniffed away her last remaining tear and wiped her cheeks with the wet ball of a small handkerchief he put his hand in the breast pocket of his rough coat and drew out a clean square and handed it to her.

  The very fact that he should carry a clean handkerchief seemed to surprise her still further and for a moment she stared at the outstretched hand and the article in it. Then without a word, she took it from him and rubbed her face with it, and as she passed it back to him she said in a small voice ‘Ta.’

  They had walked a considerable distance before he said, ‘Do you think anything will come of his lordship’s visit to the high and mighty patrons in Newcastle?’

  It was a moment before she answered, ‘I don’t know, and I—’ She stopped herself from saying childishly, ‘I don’t care.’ But he put in now on a small mirthless laugh, ‘Don’t tell me you were going to add I don’t care. Ah! Then I have got to the bottom of the trouble. ’Tis our noble friend, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, you!’ She turned and confronted him. ‘You speak like that about Roddy as if at the back of you you didn’t like him. Yet you never leave him alone, you’re like his shadow. I know you, you’re…’

  ‘You don’t know me.’ His words were like a sting now. ‘You know nothin’ about me. Do you hear? Listen to me for one moment, Mary Ellen Lee. You don’t know me and, I repeat, you know nothing about me, what I think or what I do, or what I want to do, or what I mean to do, nothing, nothing at all. You never have. All you’ve ever wanted in your life has been to possess Roddy, mind, soul and body. But you’ve gone the wrong way about it. I’ve watched you. I’ve watched you for years digging your own grave: that tongue of yours lashing at him about stupid little nothings, not letting him do what he wanted to do, grow; following him when he didn’t want to be followed, pestering him. That’s what you’ve done, and by! as I’ve said, you’ve dug your own grave, because you’re not for him. And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, the cryin’?’

  Her teeth were clenched tightly together. She was gritting them backwards and forwards as she had never done before, and the spittle was on her lips as she blurted out, ‘I hate you! Do you hear, Hal Roystan? I hate you! I’ve always hated you and I always shall.’

  An expression passed over his face that she could not define in any way, and his tone, too, was different as he said, ‘I know that, I know that fine well, ’tis no news to me, but at this moment I’ll tell you something: I’m sorry for you an’ what you’ve got to go through because I know all about it, what you’re going to go through.’ And on this, to her astonishment, he turned and left her.

  He walked quietly, his arms swinging, his shoulders slightly forward as if on the point of a run. She watched him until he had disappeared back along the ride, then she turned and went on her way, her emotions so mixed that, as she said to herself, she didn’t know which end of her was up.

  Well, something had come into the open at last. She had told him how she felt about him, and always had. But there, it had been no news to him. Instead, what had he said? He knew what she was going to go through because he had experienced it.

  Four

  ‘You’re late.’

  ‘No, I’m not, Father.’

  ‘I say you are. You generally get here at two o’clock, and look at it, it’s turned half past. You’ve been to Kate’s again afore comin home.’

  ‘I haven’t. I haven’t been near Kate’s.’

  Bill Lee drew in a deep breath; but then asked more quietly, ‘What have you brought?’

  ‘The usual.’

  He rose from his chair by the fire and came towards the table, and it was noticeable that he was finding it difficult to breathe. He was but forty-two years old, yet he looked a man of sixty, but unlike many of his mates who had started in the smelting mill when boys, he was still alive. But the gas and dust had taken toll on his lungs, although, as he would remind anyone who would listen, he had helped to build the tunnels to the chimneys, or the condenser as it was called, that was to perform miracles. Well, it might do for the coming generation, but it had happened too late for his.

  It had seemed to Mary Ellen that the gas had affected not only her father’s lungs, but his whole character. He had always been strict with her, but, as her mother had so frequently pointed out, it was because he loved her. However, since her mother’s death from consumption six years ago, his attitude towards herself had changed, his strictness had turned into a domineering possessiveness in which there was no element of love.

  ‘You’ve let your fire go low,’ she said.

  ‘Aye, well, I’ve nobody to fetch and carry for me.’

  Rounding on him, she cried, ‘And neither have I, Da! I’m fetchin’ and carryin’ all day for somebody and if you cannot go out and bring the wood in after I’ve chopped it, then you’ll have to go cold, won’t you?’

  He stared at her, surprised at this unusual bout of retaliation; then in a much quieter voice, he said, ‘What’s…what’s come over you? What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘’Tisn’t what’s the matter with me, ’tis what’s the matter with you, and is always the matter with you, Da. You’re never satisfied: nothing that I do is right. I never get a minute to meself. I take me half leave day on a Sunday when I could take it on a Saturday and go into town, which I would like to do sometimes, but no, I take it on a Sunday so I can have two hours longer to see to you. But what do I get? Never a word of thanks. I’m tired. Do you hear? I’m tired.’

  He stared at her as if he were being confronted by a strange preacher. Presently, his voice low now and self-pitying, he said, ‘I’m sorry you find me a burden.’

  She turned her head away and stood leaning on the table for a moment. ‘I don’t find you a burden, Da, but I get tired of not hearin’ a civil word,’ she said.

  At this, he turned from her and went towards the fire, and, sitting down, he said, ‘I’m sorry, lass, I’m embittered against life and everything. Why should I have this?’ He thumped his chest. ‘And why should Jane have been taken from me? Your mother was a good woman, never did or said a wrong thing in her life. I could put up with anything when I had her. There’s no sense or reason to life. Why should she be taken when there’s women left who are bad to the core and acting like mongrels on heat. There’s Maggie Oates, forty-five if a day, and still supplying men practically on me doorstep. They slink past here shamefacedly. I feel at times, if I had a gun I would shoot them, or her.’

  As she unpacked the things from
the basket she thought of the change that had come over her da. When her mother was alive he used to laugh about Maggie Oates, joked about her, at least when she herself wasn’t there. Many’s the time she would hear him say to her mother, ‘I think I’ll take a stroll along to Maggie Oates,’ and they would laugh together. And she wondered why her da had never gone to Maggie Oates’ cottage. Of course it was a good distance down the valley, a mile or more. But she knew other people went to Maggie Oates, because she was a friendly creature. She herself had spoken to her a number of times. Once, when she had come across her sitting in a field, she had made her a daisy chain. Looking back, she thought it was from that very incident that her da had become strict with her, telling her what she must do and what she must not do, especially that she must not speak to Maggie Oates.

  She said, ‘This pie’s fresh, I baked it this mornin’. Will I cut you a shive?’

  He nodded, and when she handed him a wedge of the meat and potato pie he looked up at her and said, ‘Thanks, lass.’ And on this she turned away and went into the scullery where she took an old coat from behind the door and after putting it on went out and into the woodshed. And there she began to chop wood, sufficient to keep the stock up and to help out with the peat.

  After finishing this chore, she next started on the room. She changed his bed and put the two fresh twill sheets and a pillowcase that she’d brought with her from the farm: Mrs Davison allowed her to do his heavy washing when she had the wash-house pot on on a Monday. Following this, she tidied up the kitchen and the little room that had once been her own, all the while thinking, He could keep it better than this, he’s not all that bad. But then telling herself that men didn’t do housework, considering it demeaning, and her father had never done any in his life, and that it was only hunger that had made him make meals for himself.

  He had nothing further to say all afternoon, and it wasn’t until she was almost on the point of leaving that he said, ‘What’s the news? You’ve hardly opened your mouth.’

  ‘Well, I’m followin’ your example. Anyway, I don’t like talking to meself. As for news it’s the same as last week: Monday, washing and cleaning; Tuesday, ironing and cleaning; Wednesday, in the dairy, cheese-making, butter-making; Thursday, the big baking day and cleaning; Friday, the same; Saturday, packing for market; and the day, scrambling through everything so I can get off on time. That’s my news, as usual.’

  He looked at her from out of the corner of his eyes, saying, ‘I thought you liked it there?’

  ‘Aye, I do. I’ve always liked it there. But first and foremost, I’m there to work. Well, you asked what me news was, and that’s me news.’

  ‘What about Kate…and him?’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘Well, you’re not stupid. Knowing you, I would have thought you would have been ready for the jump long afore now. He’s the only one you’ve trailed so far.’

  ‘Da, I haven’t trailed him. We were practically brought up together, always friendly.’

  ‘Well, all right, have it that way. But has he spoken?’

  Her body was hot, she wanted to turn and run from the house, but she had to look down into his face and answer his question, and she did, saying flatly, ‘No, he hasn’t, and never will as far as I’m concerned. As I said’—she was finding it difficult to go on now—‘we were brought up together like…like brother and sister.’

  He cut her off now by saying, ‘Oh, be damned to that for a tale, he’s a man and you’re ready for marryin’. You’ve got a head on your shoulders about most things, why haven’t you got him up to the scratch?’

  She turned from him, went to the door and took her coat and bonnet off a peg and, with her back still turned to him, she put them on. When at last she looked at him her voice was steady and she said, ‘I’ll marry when I think fit, Da, and who I think fit. And let me say this, it will be an unlucky day for you when I do marry, ’cos there’s one thing I’m tellin’ you, I’m not startin’ me life in this place. Now’—she pointed to the hearth—‘I’ve brought you enough wood and peat in to last for a couple of days, and while the weather’s fine keep it stocked up. There’s food enough in the pantry to see you through the week and there’s still a half sack of taties left. If you can’t wash them, peel them and boil them, then I’m afraid you’ll just have to go without. As the weather’s getting chilly I’ll bring you some bones over next week for soup. Well, I’m off. Ta-ra.’ She stared at him; and he returned her look for a moment before he said flatly, ‘Ta-ra, Mary Ellen.’

  When she had closed the door behind her she did not immediately walk away but stood with her eyes tight closed for a moment. If only he was different, like he used to be when she was younger, for although she had been a little afraid of him, she could talk to him, tell him all that had happened to her during her rambles, or what had transpired at Kate’s.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she now walked slowly across the garden which had lost every vestige of its past neatness, and out onto the narrow path that led up to the quarry, and round it to Kate’s.

  It was as she neared the cottage that she saw Roddy leaving it, and they met at the gate.

  He, holding it open for her, was the first to speak. ‘Hello,’ he said, and, she, looking up at him, answered, ‘Hello.’ His face looked drawn and tense and she forced herself to carry on speaking in an ordinary tone as she asked, ‘How did you get on then?’

  ‘Oh’—he jerked his chin upwards—‘’Twas a strange experience, different from what I thought. Anyway, I won’t know the result until a month’s time.’

  ‘Didn’t they like your drawings?’

  ‘That’s what I won’t know until they make their choice. As I understand it there are three of us.’

  ‘Three of you!’ she repeated. ‘What for?’

  ‘Well—’ He now rubbed his hand up and down the side of his thigh as he went on. ‘The one they consider to have the best drawings or possibilities, they are going to offer him a two-year course in…art.’ He hesitated on the word: it didn’t sound right, too fanciful for his drawings, he thought, and he explained by adding, ‘It’s to learn not only engineering drawing, but all kinds, landscape and portrait and things. Although they are not in my line the winner will have to study them, I suppose, if he wants to take advantage of the offer.’

  ‘And what is the offer?’

  ‘As I said, two years learning and they’ll pay for your board and such, either in Newcastle or’—again his chin jerked upwards—‘London.’

  ‘London?’ Her head came forward in enquiry. ‘You mean the London where the King is?’

  ‘Yes, that London.’

  ‘And would you go?’

  He looked away from her now towards the hills before once more he turned his head in her direction and said, bluntly now, ‘Aye, yes, I’d go.’

  Her voice was small as she asked, ‘You wouldn’t mind leaving here?’

  Again his eyes roamed over the hills and again his voice was flat as he answered, ‘Just in a way.’

  When she repeated his words, ‘Just in a way?’ there was that recognised sting to her tone which put him on the defensive, and he said, ‘Aye, that’s what I said, just in a way. I’ll miss Kate of course. But there’s lots of other things I wouldn’t miss, the mill for one…’

  ‘And me for another, I suppose. That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t. Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I’m not silly, and I’m not blind or daft either. You’ve got somebody else, haven’t you?’ She watched the scarlet suffuse his face. But then, after a moment, when he spoke, his words cut into her like a knife, for what he said was, ‘I’ve never had anybody else before her. Get that into your head, Mary Ellen. I’m fond of you, aye, I am, always have been and always will, but…but not like…well, let me put it bluntly, not like taking you for a lass. You understand?’

  She understood, but could not voice a word, the pain in her chest seemed to be riving it
apart. As she stared up into his face she thought, He’s cruel. That’s what he is, cruel. He needn’t have put it like that.

  His voice softening now, and his head moving from side to side, he said, ‘You always put people in the wrong, make folks say what they never intended. It’s that tongue of yours. Ah.’ He stopped and bowed his head deeply on to his chest for a moment, then muttered, ‘Don’t look like that, Mary Ellen, please. Look, I’m tellin’ you now, there’s nobody I like better or think more of in a brotherly kind of way than I do you, but…but it isn’t the way one feels when one thinks of marryin’.’

  Yes, she understood him. They were looking at each other, their eyes on a level, and when slowly she turned from him and walked towards the house, he took his doubled fist and beat it against his brow before continuing on his way.

  When she entered the cottage Kate said, ‘I saw you talkin’ to him. From the looks on your face, it wasn’t pleasant…What did he say?’

  Before answering Kate, she put the basket down on the floor and sat down with a plop on a backless wooden stool and her voice was quiet as she said, ‘He gave it to me straight.’

  ‘Gave you what straight?’

  ‘What he thought about me.’

  ‘Oh. And he didn’t tell you about her?’

  ‘No.’ She turned and looked at the old woman. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Well, seeing who she is, lass, it’s a pity you made him give it to you straight, because I can see no furtherance in that link up. Do you know who she is?’

  Mary Ellen shook her head.

  ‘Dan Bannaman’s daughter, his only daughter, and she’s older than him by three or four years if not more from what I remember. Now Dan Bannaman is as likely to let his lass link up with Roddy Greenbank there’—she nodded towards the window—‘as you would with the devil, because I know this much an’ I’ve worked it out over the years, that whatever happened to Roddy’s father when he fell, supposedly accidentally, down the quarry and brought on a landslide, that man had some doin’ in it, because he came here shortly afterwards and his face was clean-shaven and for years before he had sported a beard. And I can see his face now when he saw that the lad laying on that bed there’—she thumbed towards her bed—‘didn’t recognise him. Then there was the day that you came in and told me that his henchman was up there looking for something. Well, whatever it was, they didn’t find it, because every now and again they’ve come back, up till these recent years. So perhaps they did find it. I don’t know. But as I said, Roddy has as much chance to link himself up with Bannaman’s girl as would the devil in hell, in fact he’d have a better chance I would imagine. So, ’tis a pity you brought whatever you did into the open, for this would have died its natural death, and then you could have brought your wiles to work on him, usin’ it instead of being so careless of your tongue.’