The Whip (The Spaniard's Gift) Read online

  ‘Come here.’ It was the plumpish man who spoke, and now she walked slowly until she was standing with her toes pointing towards the head of a tiger, whose skin was set in front of the hearth like a rug.

  ‘Your name?’

  ‘Emma Crawshaw.’

  The three pairs of eyes were fixed on her. And then the man spoke again: ‘Do you know that you nearly killed my son?’ he said.

  She gave no answer, but the man in the wheelchair made a sound like a grunt.

  ‘If justice was being done, you’d be in court this very morning being tried for your crime, but…but because my father-in-law considers your age we have decided to treat you with some leniency.’ He now looked down on the older man. But there was no movement from the figure in the chair who continued to stare at Emma, and so his son-in-law went on, ‘We have brought you here to see what punishment is fit for people who act like wild animals and attack riders…’

  ‘I never did.’

  The words were loud and out before she could stop them, and her chin, like the butler’s, was thrust upwards. And now having spoken, she repeated, ‘I never did attack them…he did me.’

  ‘You struck out with a crop and hit his horse.’

  She was glaring at the youth now, and as if he were an opponent who was her equal she cried at him, ‘I had no crop of my own, ’twas his. He brought it across my face and I grabbed at the end and pulled it out of his hand.’

  ‘You mean to say that you grabbed the end of his crop and pulled it out of my son’s hand?’ The plump man had his head poked out towards her, and defiantly she answered him, saying, ‘Yes, I do. And look, that’s what happened to me hand.’ She held the palm upwards and the man’s head came further forward as he looked down on it through narrowed eyes. Then he turned and looked at his son. Neither of them spoke, but their heads were jerked round, as was Emma’s, when a voice like a deep growl came from the chair, saying, ‘Here, girl!’

  Slowly now, she skirted the tiger’s head, then stepped gingerly onto its back and walked towards its tail and stood within a foot or so of the chair.

  ‘Your hand.’ It was another growl.

  She turned her hand palm upwards towards him, and the man brought his upper body forward in the chair and peered at it. Then turning his head slowly towards his grandson, his voice even more gruff now, he said, ‘This is a different story. Did John or did he not strike at her?’

  The youth glanced at his father, looked down at the carpet and was about to speak when the old man bellowed now, ‘Answer, boy! Yes or no. Did John strike at her first?’

  ‘He…he just flicked his crop, Grandfather.’

  ‘Across her face?’

  The boy swallowed deeply and said, ‘I…I couldn’t see from…where…where I was.’

  ‘But you could see that she retaliated and hit back, you could see that, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Grandfather.’ The voice was small.

  The old man stared hard at the young one’s bent head before turning and looking at Emma again and asking, ‘How did you manage to get the crop from my grandson’s hand?’

  Emma looked into the sunken blue eyes for a moment. The skin round them was very wrinkled but the eyes themselves were bright, and as she held their gaze a little of the fear in her subsided, and almost brightly now she said, ‘It was with a flick of me wrist, sir, like that!’ She demonstrated.

  ‘Where did you learn the trick?’

  Before she could answer the plump man put in, ‘She’s of gypsy stock.’

  ‘I am not. I am not of gypsy stock.’

  The plump man seemed to swell before her eyes, his face assuming an expression of instant anger, his mouth opening wide, but before he could utter any reprimand the old man forestalled him by saying, ‘Of what stock are you?’

  Her breathing had quickened and she had to swallow before she said, ‘Me father was Spanish, sir. He worked in a travelling show. He was a great man with the whips and the knives.’

  ‘And he taught you to use the whips?’

  She moved her head downwards, saying, ‘Yes, a bit sir. He…he died when I was seven, and I was sent here—’ she thumbed over her shoulder now and ended, ‘to the farm an’ me granny.’

  The old man surveyed her for a long moment. ‘Did you purposely hit out at the horse with the intention of unsaddling my grandson?’

  ‘No, I did not, sir; I went to aim for his leg. And I wouldn’t have hurt him, ’cos he had a leather boot on, but I have a bad foot where a nail went through the sole of me boot an’ I didn’t have a good balance an’…an’ what’s more’—her voice sank—‘I was afeared.’

  The old man took his gaze slowly from her and let it rest on his son and his grandson. Then addressing his son, he said, ‘What have you got to say to this? Has the boy got nothing to do in his free time but to search out menials to taunt? This settles it: no more school, it’s the army for him.’

  She watched the plump man’s head droop downwards. Then the old gentleman was saying to her, ‘Does your hand hurt badly?’ and she answered, ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Could you show me how you use your whips?’

  The widening of her eyes seemed to have affected her lower jaw for it dropped open and it was on a gulp she said, ‘Show you, sir?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  For a moment she forgot about the other two occupants of the room and she smiled at the old man and said in an almost light tone, ‘I’d be pleased to, sir.’

  ‘What kind of whip do you want?’

  ‘I can swing anything up to ten feet, perhaps a little more. I haven’t had much practice lately, not with the long ones.’

  She watched the old man turn and nod towards the mantelpiece, and his grandson, who was nearer to him, put his hand out and pulled on a thick red cord. Within seconds there was a tap on the door and the butler entered. Bowing slightly, he waited, and the old man barked at him, ‘Have an assortment of whips sent up from the stables.’

  She had turned her head towards the butler expecting his mouth to fall agape at the strange order, but he again merely moved his body forward before turning and going out.

  ‘Do you throw knives too?’ The question came at her as sharp as a knife, and she jerked her head round so quickly that her neck bones seemed to crack as she answered, ‘I’m not so good at them, but…but I think I could split a peg from here to there.’ She pointed towards the foot of the wall to the left side of her on which she now took in the wild animals’ heads and glass cases holding stuffed birds.

  ‘Do you think you could hit that animal’s nose?’ The old man was pointing to a big horned beast’s head nailed up on the wall.

  Emma studied the head for a moment, then said, ‘It’s higher up than I usually aim at, but if I stood there’—she pointed to where an oblong table about three feet long was placed at the end of a couch—‘I’d likely hit it from there.’

  ‘See to it.’ The old man was nodding towards his son-in-law who now went to pull the bell rope, but the old man’s bellow stayed his hand as he cried, ‘Move it yourself, man, there’s two of you. It won’t bite or break your back.’

  Emma saw the plump man’s face turn from pink to red and then to an almost purple hue as he walked towards the table, from where he motioned to his son to take the other end of it.

  The old man spoke again. ‘Take the knife out of its sheath,’ he said, pointing to a leather pouch hanging on the wall next to a large wooden plaque.

  It was the youth who obeyed this order. However, when he went to give the knife to his grandfather the old man didn’t take it, instead he pointed towards Emma, and the boy, turning about, offered it to her. She took it without looking at him.

  She stood weighing it in her hand for a moment before looking at the old man and saying, ‘’Tis heavy, heavier than two of Dada’s put together.’

  ‘What did your father do with the knives? What did he aim at?’

  ‘Mama. She stood against the board and he threw th
em round her, thirteen of ’em.’

  ‘Thirteen of them?’ The old man’s eyes widened, and when she nodded, he repeated, ‘Thirteen of them? Handy man. Handy man. Well now, see what you can do with that bison.’

  She now looked from one to the other of the three men, then down at the knife in her hand. She took the handle between her finger and thumb and swung the knife gently backward and forward. The blade seemed long, much longer than her dada’s knives. She now went and stood at the end of the couch, and looked at the far wall. The animal’s head was really much too high for her and the knife was too heavy. She swung it again between her finger and thumb, then let her wrist sway back and forward taking its weight. Of a sudden she brought her elbow up on a line with her chin; then her hand hanging just behind her ear moved twice from the wrist before letting the knife go. There was a pinging noise as the point of the blade pierced the tight drawn skin of the animal and entered the head at a point between the nose and the upper lip.

  She turned slowly and looked towards the old man. His wrinkled face had moved into a grin; his lips were pressed together, his nostrils had widened showing more clearly the hairs growing out of them. It was some seconds before he spoke, when he said simply, ‘Good.’ And then, looking at his son-in-law, he said another word which overshadowed the first, ‘Remarkable.’

  Another knock on the door and the butler returned carrying a number of whips, the handles tucked under his arm. The expression on his face had altered somewhat and Emma couldn’t put a name to it, except that she thought he hadn’t liked being sent for the whips.

  ‘What’s the longest one?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Then find out, man.’

  The butler stooped his stiff back and, taking what appeared to be the longest handled whip, he stretched out the thong.

  ‘That’s the four-in-hand,’ the old man said; ‘should be…should be twelve feet. Think you can manage that, girl?’

  Emma moved a step forward now and, picking up the whip from the floor, she said, ‘Yes, sir. But there’s not much space here.’

  The old man now looked round the room and grunted before he said, ‘You’re right, you’re right, not much space here. Take up a smaller one.’

  She now took up a whip with a thong measuring about five feet and, weighing it in her hand, she said, ‘This is a nice one.’ She had directed the words to the old man and it seemed to her in this moment that there were only the two of them present in the room, the others had ceased to count. And, strangely, all fear had left her. She was experiencing a new sensation, one which told her that with some people she could hold her own, people that were like the old man.

  She was quick to recognise that the master in this house was the old man and not his son-in-law, yet everybody took Mr Fordyke to be the boss. She also took in the fact that Mr Fordyke stood in awe of his father-in-law. She guessed that in a way he must be rather weak and as fearful of the old man as she had been of himself when she had first set eyes on him. But she was afraid of him no longer. She wished her granny was up here to see this all happening; she wouldn’t believe her eyes. Oh, and how she wished the missis had come with her. Oh, she did. Mrs Yorkless fully expected that she would be sent along the line, she had said so only yesterday, and that alone had kept her awake most of the night.

  She was flicking the whip now, making it curl above her head. She made it form an S then an O; then stopping suddenly she looked towards the chair and said, ‘I can whip a peg out of the ground, but I cannot show you here.’

  The old man twisted slightly in his chair and looked about him, then said, ‘You see that wooden idol, that statue on the table there.’ He was pointing now. ‘Could you whip that off there without breaking it?’

  She looked at the wooden idol. ‘I can whip it off,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know whether it will drop to the floor or not, because when I take out the pegs I’ve got to swing round to keep them going, then pull them into me.’ She demonstrated with her hands now as if she were plaiting rope.

  ‘Take one of the short ones.’ He pointed to the floor, ‘Try it.’

  As she moved towards the whips lying on the floor she caught the look of the youth. His eyes were round but not in admiration, the look in them was more akin to that in his father’s eyes, which was a mixture of disdain and arrogance, yet threaded with something she couldn’t name and wouldn’t have credited it to be fear.

  Having taken up a whip with a four-foot thong she went towards the table and looked at the idol; then stepping back some paces, she set her wrist into a circling motion which grew larger and larger; then a wide flick of her wrist sent the thong outwards. The tip curling around the wooden idol brought it off the table in a flash; but it was much heavier than she had imagined and it was dropping to the floor when she raised her arm with her wrist still moving and brought the piece to her chest. And there hugging it to her, her face in a smile of triumph, she looked towards the chair and the old man. He was smiling too, his mouth open wide now showing a row of brown discoloured teeth at the bottom of his mouth and three brown stumps in the front of upper jaw. Then of a sudden the smile disappeared from his face as he looked at his son and said, ‘Well, court’s over, send me daughter to me.’

  For the first time since Emma had come into the room James Fordyke made an open stand against his father-in-law, saying, ‘Something’s got to be done with her, she’s got to be taught a lesson, you can’t just…’

  ‘I should think she’s taught you a lesson.’ The old man’s voice was a growl again. ‘What you want to do, James, is to teach your sons a lesson, teach them how to deal with the peasantry. Tell them there’s a difference between them and the animals, although—’ his voice changed for a moment as he interspersed, ‘some animals are far superior to any human. Still, there’s an estate to be run here, so I gather, and Master John should be old enough now to have some sense of responsibility and not run the earth playing tricks, spiteful tricks, on children. As I said, send my daughter to me.’

  When James Fordyke turned abruptly and walked down the room, the youth now said in a very subdued tone, ‘Have I your leave to go, Grandfather?’

  ‘You have; but remember what I’ve said, the same applies to you.’

  The two Fordykes were followed by the butler; and now she was left alone in the room with the old man, and there returned to her a feeling of apprehension. He was a terror, he seemed to have everybody frightened. Did he frighten her? Funny, not much, but she knew she’d have to be careful or else he’d fly off the handle.

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you deaf, girl? I said sit down.’

  ‘On there?’ She pointed to the velvet-covered high-backed chair at the other side of the fireplace, and now he laughed again, and his voice changing, he said, ‘Yes, on there.’

  Gingerly she planted herself on the edge of the chair, her black boots sticking out below the long skirt of her blue serge dress. She was hot. She wished she could take her coat off. If she’d had a nice frock on underneath she would have asked his permission.

  ‘Tell me about yourself…your father, your mother.’

  She hesitated for a moment, then began to talk, recalling what she could remember of the travelling show. She went on to tell him of her work on the farm and what she did at Mr Bowman’s, and how she sometimes sat for him. She had just come to the point when she was about to mention the parson when the door opened and a lady entered. She was of medium height with brown hair and wearing a gown which almost matched its colour. The skirt was very full and as she walked into the room there came a rustling sound from beneath it, like when you rubbed the heads of ripe corn between your hands and the grain fell out.

  The lady paused for a moment and looked at Emma, and the look brought Emma to her feet and she bobbed her knee. Then addressing the old man, the lady said quietly, ‘So what’s the verdict?’

  ‘Not guilty.’

  ‘Somebody would be di
spleased.’

  ‘Somebody was, my dear. Anyway, the cause of all this narration’—he now waved a bony blue-veined hand towards Emma—‘has been entertaining me for the last half hour and I think she needs some reward. What do you say?’

  ‘Whatever you wish, Father.’ The lady now turned and looked at Emma and she smiled, and her smile was kindly. She had the same colour eyes as the old man.

  Now changing the subject and seeming to forget about her, the old man brought his daughter’s attention round to him again by saying, ‘He’s going into the army.’ And to this she answered, ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘This business has settled it.’

  ‘Then I should say it is well it happened.’

  Again the old man changed the topic by pointing to the wooden idol that was now reposing back on the table and saying, ‘She whipped that off and didn’t drop it. What do you think of that?’

  ‘Clever. Very clever.’ The lady was nodding towards the idol; then she added, ‘What would have happened if she had? Would your luck have broken?’

  ‘Probably, probably. But it isn’t my luck I think about nowadays. Anyway, she has given me the brightest half-hour I’ve had in some long time. Arrange that she’ll come back when I need her, will you?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Well now, I think a hamper of some kind; from what I gather from Pearson, those Yorklesses are a tight lot. The girl lives with her grandmother, fed on the side. This I’ve learned from her.’ He nodded towards Emma without looking at her. ‘So a hamper. Eh?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘But don’t leave it to Atkins. Send Bella to the kitchen to supervise it; there’s nobody stingier to the working class than the working class. Funny thing that is, isn’t it, Kathleen?’

  ‘Yes, Father, ’tis a funny thing, but only because it’s a part of life, and life is a very funny thing.’

  Emma now watched the lady put out her hand and touch the stubbly cheek of the old man before turning towards her and saying, gently, ‘Come along.’