The Tinker's Girl Page 15

  'He's a lucky man is Max.'

  'Yes, I think he is, Mister Bruce ... I mean, to get the job.'

  That wasn't what he had meant, but she wouldn't understand. He continued to look at her. Yes, she was changed, and it had occurred apparently only in the last few days. His eyes hadn't been open enough and so he had missed the butterfly emerging from the chrysalis, but his thoughts, nevertheless, told him that its wings would still be wet and fragile and it would be some time before they became strong enough for it to fly; but when it did it would be exceedingly beautiful. What was she now? Fifteen? Well, give her two years . . .

  yes, two years, and what then?

  'Will I make you a cup of the coffee that Mister Richard brought you?' she now asked.

  'Yes; that would be good, but make enough for four this time.'

  Her face straight, she now bent towards him and in a low voice she said, 'Well, it won't last long at that rate, and then you'll go for me, saying I've had it on the sly,' smiling mischievously at him, and his eyes twinkled back as he said, 'Well, I know you do; you're not to be trusted with coffee.'

  She straightened up. 'Oh you! Mister Bruce,' she countered, and turning, she almost danced into the cottage. Again leaning his head back against the wall, he did not, however, look up into the sky, but away to the hills to the right of him, and his thoughts touched on more mundane matters at the sight of his father coming out of the pigsty, and he considered, It'll take something stronger than coffee to get me on my pins for Wednesday. If I'm not we're going to be in the cart unless - his thoughts checked - unless he can see to them. He can see to the pigs all right, but what about the sheep? It's a good job I got most of the flock down ready for market. Otherwise, we would have been in a fix. Anyway, there's five days to go; we'll wait and see. I could always sit on the cart and let him do the herding; but that'll be only part of it, for you need legs when you get there, and also a voice to bargain for a decent price.

  Jinnie was handing him a mug of coffee and saying,

  'It's got a lovely smell, hasn't it? Makes you think of foreign places, like the missionaries went to. The missionaries used to come to the workhouse and talk about the foreign places.'

  He smiled as he said, 'Yes, the aroma sets fancy free.'

  'What was that, Mister Bruce?'

  'I was saying that the smell of coffee makes your thoughts wander.'

  'Does that. It does that.' Her voice had dropped; then she said, 'The missis said you could get drunk on it,'

  and she turned and skipped again into the cottage; this time returning with a tin mug full of the steaming liquid.

  At the far end of the barn Pug Shaleman had made a kind of armchair for himself with some empty crates and a couple of bales of straw, and to the side of it was a low table holding pieces of wood and whittling tools.

  And he was sitting there now; and he turned as Jinnie's voice came to him, saying, 'A drink of coffee for you, mister.' As he took it from her he sniffed the mug and said, 'Oh, that again. Kindness will never cease,' and she replied flatly, 'Well, there wasn't a lot; there was only one packet; I think it was a half pound.'

  'Kept for special occasions. Is this a special occasion?'

  She was backing away from him as she said, 'I don't know, mister, only that it's a nice day, and on nice days people are generally pleasant.'

  This remark must have left him speechless, because he sat with the mug in his hand and his mouth slightly agape until she was out of sight. Getting too big for her boots, that one. Yes; yes, indeed. Things hadn't been right since she came into the house. For two pins . . .

  but his mind at this point did not tell him what he would do for two pins; instead, he gulped at the coffee.

  Bruce was still sitting outside at three o'clock in the afternoon. He had fallen asleep, his head to one side and resting against the stone wall, one hand holding the seat as if to prevent himself from sliding off. The other arm was hanging limply down by the side of the chair.

  'Don't wake him, there's plenty of time. I'll wait out here if I may have a seat.'

  Jinnie dashed into the cottage room, and as she went to lift a chair she turned her face towards the bed and in a loud whisper she said, 'It's Mister Richard.' ;

  'Yes, I can tell that, girl.'

  Outside, Richard took the chair from Jinnie, straddled it, then leant his arms on the back and asked softly,

  'How long has he been asleep?'

  But before she had time to answer, Bruce's throaty voice came to them, saying, 'She doesn't know, and I don't know, but I'm awake now, for who could sleep with all this narration going on?' He opened his eyes now and smiled as he looked at Richard, and he, smiling back, said, 'How're you feeling?'

  'Much better. Oh, much better.'

  ' Can I get you a cup of tea, Mister Richard?'

  'Yes, Jinnie. Thank you. That would be nice and refreshing, for that sun is never moderate, it's one extreme or the other. We shouldn't grumble though, for I think these will probably be the last sunny days we'll have this year. At least,' he added now, 'at this end.' Then abruptly, he said, 'I'm off to Brighton tomorrow.'

  'Brighton?'

  'Yes. I was to be sent either to Switzerland or to Germany to do penance, but not France, because I might paint there. My godmother has a house in Brighton. It's really her main base. She has a place up in Scotland too, but the south is much warmer.'

  'I thought she was touring in India?'

  'So did I; but something's brought her back. I had a letter last week and she was apparently asking me to go down to see her and to stay for a while.'

  'Will your . . . people be going down with you?'

  'To my godmother's?' Richard's laugh rang out. 'Oh no; she's a firebrand: they dread her visits; always have done; although, as I remember, they've only ever been short, much too short for me. I seem to be the only one she doesn't swear at. No; I think my parents would rather take a tour to India themselves than go to Brighton.'

  'She sounds interesting.'

  'That's just one of the words you can put to her, Bruce. I think you would like her.' He now turned to look through the open doorway, to where Jinnie was mashing the tea at the cottage table, and bending towards Bruce, he said, 'I've never asked, but I'm interested to know how she came to lose the plait. Was it anything to do with--' His voice dropped to a whisper,

  'Your brother and his quick departure?'

  'Yes, everything;' and more quietly still, he said, 'I'll tell you later.'

  After Jinnie had brought them out each a mug of tea and they had drunk it, Bruce pulled himself up from the chair, saying, 'I'd better get some practice in with these legs before market day.'

  'You'll never be able to go down on market day.'

  'It's only ...'

  'Yes, I know it's only a few days off. Couldn't your father see to it?'

  'I don't know. With someone with him, yes; but on his own I doubt it. There's the herding, although that could

  be seen to, but there are other factors too. Anyway, let's walk a while.'

  'You're not fit to be up yet, never mind walking.'

  Bruce made no comment on this, and they walked slowly over the flat plain.

  They had walked some distance before Richard said,

  'You were going to tell me about Jinnie and the hair.'

  'Oh, that! Well, if it wasn't for the fact that she's lost half of her bronze beauty the whole thing could be laughable, like a farce. You see, it started the day she entered the house: she knocked my father off the stool on to his back.'

  'She what!'

  'Just what I said.' Bruce was smiling now. "Twas the funniest thing I ever saw enacted in that kitchen.

  Apparently she will not be touched in certain places and he had made a grab at her backside; and after she had dealt him a blow with her forearm, she explained in no small voice that she wasn't going to be handled by anyone. That was the word she used, "handled", and with emphasis. Apparently at her previous place, the boss of the
house had tried it on in the middle of the night, and that was that. Anyway, that was the first we heard of her objection to being handled, and from then everything went smoothly until Hal came home.

  Well, I did my best to warn him off - you know Hal but one night he went up her ladder with the intention of... "handling" her; and what did she do? She stabbed him.'

  'She stabbed him?'

  'Yes, in the arm, with a sort of dinner knife. Her father, who was a tinker, so I understand, carried this little pouch around with him with a knife and fork and spoon in it. That's the only thing she's got that belonged to him. But she wouldn't have had that if that Max fellow I told you about, the huge fellow, hadn't rescued it after her father died. Otherwise, it would likely have gone in the incinerator. She can tell some amazing tales about what happens not only to their clothes but to the inmates of the workhouse themselves.'

  'Was he badly cut?'

  'Yes, he was. What is more, part of the knife was rusty and that could've meant trouble later on, so I had to take the poker to it.'

  'You . . . you actually cauterised it?'

  'I had to, or get him to a doctor - ' and now slanting his gaze towards Richard, he said, 'and you know what it's like getting a doctor up here, don't you?'

  Richard ignored this statement, but said again,

  'Stabbed him? You can't imagine her doing such a thing.'

  'Oh, I can. There are two Jinnies inside that budding exterior. The day she arrived she looked like a child, but only for a short while. Anyway--' his voice altered now as he went on, 'Hal is a spiteful devil; I could say he is evil; and he meant to do her in, and so he waited his chance. She was all tidied up one Sunday to go down to the Miss Duckworths, who happen to have a niece who is a seamstress in the workhouse. Anyway, big Max apparently gets leave once a month to take Miss Caplin to visit her aunts on her day off, and there was our Jinnie going joyfully down to see them all. You see, she has a great feeling for Miss Caplin. But there was Hal waiting for her.' He nodded and went on, 'He must have been waiting for her in the copse down the hill.

  Whether or not he intended to kill her, I don't know; but he certainly meant to take her down. The beauty of her hair must have enraged him enough to drive him to cut off her plaits. He had managed one plait when a dog sniffed them out and this must have frightened him off. And there she was running like a wild thing down to the Miss Duckworths. Well, what followed you really wouldn't believe, but to give you it in brief, the big fellow brings her back right into the kitchen.

  'There we were, the three of us, sitting, and Jinnie points out Hal, and Max picks him up, gives him a blow in the face that should have broken his neck, then gets him by the belt, hoists him up like this' he now demonstrated, putting both hands above his head - 'steps on to the table and hangs him by the belt from one of the bacon hooks. And to repay him for what he had done to Jinnie's head, he shaved him bald. Then he takes Jinnie away again.'

  'It's almost unbelievable,' said Richard.

  'It was more unbelievable seeing it played out. Anyway, he was for going to sea. He had talked about it for a long time, besides which there was an irate husband in the village on the hunt for him; so he went to Newcastle the same day swearing that he would come back, and he will. That's one thing I'm sure of. What he would hope to achieve, if that big fellow's still about, I don't know.

  Of course, there's always the shotgun.'

  They were walking on again and had gone some way before Richard said, 'Do you mean to say that Jinnie won't allow anyone to touch her at all?'

  'Oh, touching and handling are quite different things in Jinnie's mind - I've seen her jump into Max's arms in greeting. When she says "handled" she means something else, you know.'

  'Oh yes. Yes, I see. But she looks so thin, so fragile, and she'll likely grow into a very pretty girl.'

  'She'll never be pretty, Richard, beautiful yes, but never pretty.'

  Richard gave a short laugh as he said, 'Yes, there is a difference.' And he paused again: 'Dare I ask if you've got a feeling for her?'

  'Oh yes.' The answer came promptly. 'Always have, from when I first brought her over this plain. Sometimes it's that of a brother, sometimes that of a father; and now and again, of something else too; but I doubt if the latter will ever come to anything, for she'll never see me in that way.'

  'How on earth d'you know?'

  'Oh, I know. I am in a way like her Max, who is a sort of protector, a friend. Anyway, whatever feeling she has for me I'll make sure I don't spoil it.'

  'But if you . . .'

  'Look, Richard; let's forget about Jinnie and her . . .

  what would you call it? I can't think of any name for it except nicety, and that isn't right, is it?'

  'No, it isn't right.'

  'Well, anyway, what I want to know is how long d'you think you'll be in Brighton?'

  'Oh, just so long as I can stand it; for about a month, I should say. Perhaps not that long; she may decide she's going to Timbuktu. Of course she would want me to go with her, as she always does, but this time I have the excuse that we're all going to France.'

  'Well, you know, Brighton will do you good. After your trip there last time you felt much better.'

  'I didn't, not really. I never feel so well as when I'm out on these hills.'

  They were nearing the cottage when Bruce stopped and said, 'I've never thanked you for the other night.

  If I'd been left to the care of me da and Jinnie, I'm sure I wouldn't have made it.'

  But knowing what he had already decided in his mind, Richard did not answer for a moment; when he did he said, 'Well, that makes us about quits,' and they walked on in silence until they reached the cottage when Richard said, 'When we come back from France I will likely be engaged to be married.'

  Bruce turned and looked at his companion but Richard was staring straight ahead and he added, 'It's expected of me; that's if my health keeps up.'

  'Is it Miss Rowland?'

  'Yes, it's Miss Rowland. Well?' The word was a question and now Richard stopped and, facing Bruce he said, 'I, I don't feel ready for marriage.' He tossed his head to one side now and said,' Candidly, Bruce, I'm afraid I ... well, I won't be up to it, because there are times, and you know this, that I'm as weak as a day-old kitten. All my brave talk has never hoodwinked you.'

  'D'you care for her?'

  'Lillian? Strangely, yes, in a way.'

  'What d'you mean "in a way"? You must know if you love her or not.'

  'Oh, what is love? It has so many facets. I love my nanny; at my boarding school I fell in love with a teacher, he had blond hair and blue eyes; I love my dog. I love my pony. Oh, how I loved the pony that tipped me into the ravine--' he sighed, and they had covered a short distance before he asked, 'Whom or what have I loved since then?' His head drooped and he gave himself no answer.

  'You should marry, and it will be all right.' Bruce put out a hand now and caught Richard's arm and, after pressing it tight, he dropped into the jargon of his class:

  'Marriage could be the makings of you, man.' At this, they both stopped and looked at each other and burst out laughing, and their laughter rang clear across the land to the hills, so loud that it brought Jinnie out of the cottage door, and there she stood awaiting their approach. Their faces were bright with their laughter, and hers became bright too, and she said to them, 'An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but a laugh a day keeps life at bay.'

  They were standing before her now, their faces no longer spreading laughter, their gaze soft on her, and as if they had but the one voice between them they repeated, 'An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but a laugh a day keeps life at bay,' and they both knew in this moment, though barely conscious of it, that she was the life they must keep at bay.

  7

  Bruce stood by the cart and looked up at his father, and he had to shout to make himself heard above the combined din of the squealing pigs packed into the back of the cart, all aiming to climb up the high sides of it.
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  'Mam's given you a sovereign, and let that make do, d'you hear? There's some hard months ahead of us and, as far as I understand, prices are low. It will all depend upon who is there this morning. Avoid Dickinson if you can, because he'll beat you down.'

  The reins in his hand, Pug Shaleman leaned over and, his face almost touching Bruce's, he said, 'Who d'ya think you're talking to, a bairn? a lad? I was at this game before you were born, remember; I haven't always been pushed to the side.'

  Angry now, Bruce yelled, 'You went to the side because you found it easy; no responsibility, anybody else could take the pull; it was first Ma, then it was me.

  Look, get down from there.' Bruce put his foot on the spoke of a wheel and as he aimed to pull himself upwards his father thrust him back, saying, 'Go to hell with you! This is still my place, my stock; I can do what I bloody well like with them.' And the horse moved off.

  The sudden jerk of the cart almost toppled Bruce backwards and, likely, he would have fallen if Jinnie had not placed her hands flat against his back.

  After steadying him, she remained standing by his side as they watched the cart joggling over the rough ground, and she said, 'Don't worry, Mister Bruce, Mr Locke will be with him. He's a steady man, is Mr Locke,'

  and added hesitantly, 'isn't he?'

  It was a moment before Bruce answered, 'Yes, Peter Locke's all right in his way, but he won't be selling the stock, nor will he be handling the money. When he once gets the stock into the market his job'll be finished, at least with us. Somebody else will then pick him up to get their stock home. I should have gone in.

  God! I should have gone in.'

  'No, Mister Bruce, you shouldn't. Look what happened to you yesterday with that walking. That kept you lying flat nearly all day, so come on back; it's a long day ahead.'

  They were about to turn towards the cottage when Bruce exclaimed, 'He's stopped! What's he want? He's standing on the seat looking back. He's forgotten something; but what?'

  'Oh, he's off again, Mister Bruce. Come on; come on back and have a sit down; the sun's warming up now.