The Whip (The Spaniard's Gift) Page 18

  He had shrunk, he wasn’t as she remembered him. His eyes looked like pin-points, and the skin of his face was hanging in flaps at each side of his jaws. He was changed; and apparently he must have thought the same about her, for when he mumbled something to his daughter she leant towards his ear and said slowly and clearly, ‘It is the same girl, Father, but she has grown.’

  When he muttered something else the lady looked at her and said, ‘You didn’t bring your whips with you?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Do you still use them?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Bennett.’ She had turned her head to the side and the name immediately brought one of the menservants to her, and to him she said, ‘Bring an assortment of whips from the stables.’

  The old man now shuffled in his chair and, bringing his head forward a little, he said in a voice like a croak, ‘Grainger tells me you are a scholar. Tell me, what do you know?’

  She looked from him to his daughter somewhat perplexed. What could she answer to that? What had the parson meant by saying she was a scholar? She could only read and write, and so this was the answer she gave him: ‘I can read and write, sir, that’s all.’

  ‘What does she say?’ He turned to his daughter who, putting her mouth again to his ear, said, ‘She claims that she is only able to read and write.’

  ‘Enough. Enough.’ He was nodding at her. ‘What do you read?’

  She thought a moment. She often kept one of the parson’s books a month or more because her granny only allowed them one candle a night after which she had to read by the firelight, and sometimes in the morning her eyes were red. One night, the moon had been so clear she had been able to read up in the roof, but it only happened the once and because in that particular book the print was larger than usual.

  She began to recall the books she had read over the past year or so. Speaking loudly, she answered him: ‘Books. Er…Mansfield Park. This was written by a lady, Jane Austen. And er…The Lady of the Lake. This though was written by a man named Walter Scott.’ When she seemed to have finished, the old man made no comment for a few minutes, and then not to her. Turning to his daughter, he repeated the two titles, then went on, ‘A pig girl reading! And reading a book by Jane Austen and The Lady of the Lake.’

  ‘Yes, it is amazing,’ his daughter said. Then looking at Emma, she smiled at her and asked quietly now, ‘Do you like working on the farm?’ And after a moment’s hesitation, Emma replied quietly, ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘What does she say?’

  The lady turned to her father again and said, ‘She doesn’t like working on the farm.’

  ‘Understandable. Understandable.’ The skin on his jowls flopped up and down. ‘What do you want to do?’

  She shook her head as she said, ‘I don’t know.’

  He seemed to have got the gist of her reply for he repeated, ‘You don’t know?…Go into a circus?’ His face moved into what resembled a smile and she nodded brightly back at him, saying, ‘Yes, sir. Yes, that would be nice. I should like that, to go into a circus.’

  And yes, she would like that. Oh she would, to travel from one place to the other, to be in the open air most of the time, the clean open air, no more smell of cattle. She didn’t really mind the smell of the cattle though, but the cesspit behind the house, that smell she couldn’t stand. And part of her job was to empty the slops that were left in buckets in the yard onto the heap, until it went ripe enough, as Farmer Yorkless termed it, to take to the ground.

  The servant had returned with the whips and laid them at her feet. She counted ten, and one looked almost as long as that which her dada had used. She picked up a medium-size one first; then looking at the lady, she said, ‘Do you think, ma’am, I could have some pegs or pieces of wood?’

  Again the servant was given an order, and until he returned she played the whip into rings and snakes and twirls around her head, and lastly she skipped through a loop.

  When the servant came back once more he laid at her feet an assortment of pieces of wood: four six inch pegs, a number of ordinary clothes pegs and some odd pieces of wood that were like kindling. She took the four large pegs first and after placing them some distance apart, going directly away from where she now stood, she proceeded to whip them from the ground. This completed, she looked at the old man; but he was looking at his daughter and saying in an almost excited tone, ‘She’s like Rad, you know, I told you when you were small about Rad.’

  ‘Yes, Father. Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Well, she’s like Rad. His was just a rope, but he could throw a loop over a running beast as easily as she whipped out those pegs. Rad. Rad.’ He shook his head and, now looking back at Emma and his voice seeming stronger, he commanded, ‘Well, go on. Go on.’

  And she went on. Sometimes she misjudged her distance or her stance wasn’t right, or her wrist wasn’t working properly, and the trick didn’t come off; and at this she would look at him apologetically, but he always jerked his hand upwards and she would go on and have another try.

  It was as she was demonstrating what she could do with the longest whip that the lady signalled her to stop, and when she looked at the old man his head was bent forward and he looked asleep. The lady now rose to her feet and one of the servants came and drew the chair gently from under the awning, but as he did so the old man raised his head and, looking about him, said, ‘’Tis finished?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  His gaze came to rest on Emma and with a weary gesture he beckoned her to him, and when she was standing by his side, he looked at her kindly, saying, ‘Do something with yourself, girl. You understand?’

  Yes, she understood, and she nodded at him, saying, ‘I will try, sir.’

  He nodded back at her and, turning to his daughter, said, ‘See to her.’

  Emma watched the men lift the chair up the steps and push it across the drive before she turned and looked at the lady. She too seemed to have got much older: she wasn’t beautiful but she had a nice face, a quiet face, like her voice, and she was speaking to her now, saying, ‘Thank you for entertaining my father. He enjoyed it.’

  ‘I’m happy he did. May I say, ma’am, he seems a grand gentleman.’

  The lady’s eyelids blinked and her head moved slowly now as she said, ‘You’re right, he is a grand gentleman.’ Then she added, ‘Now what would you like? Some food, or would you prefer money?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter about either, ma’am, I was just pleased to do it.’

  ‘You must have something, he wished it.’

  ‘Then if you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d rather take the food.’

  ‘Very well. Have…have you got someone with you?’

  ‘No, ma’am; I came by meself.’

  ‘Oh. Then you won’t be able to carry a hamper. I will see that it is sent down for you.’

  ‘You’re very kind, ma’am.’

  ‘Goodbye, and thank you.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ She stood still while the lady turned away. To her eyes, she looked like a picture out of a book. She was wearing a pale lemon-coloured summer dress. The material was very soft, for the skirts billowed gently as she walked up the steps, and there was no breeze. At the top of the steps she saw the lady pause when a man approached her from the side of the drive. The exchange between them was very short and the lady walked on while the man came down the steps towards her. She recognised him immediately as Mr Fordyke. He was more plump than when she had seen him last and she was about to turn away when he spoke.

  ‘Up to your tricks again?’ His voice wasn’t unkind; she knew it was meant to be a joke and she looked at him, saying, ‘Yes, sir.’

  He came to a halt about a yard from her and he stood saying nothing but looking at her. Although his eyes were on her face he seemed to be looking all over her and he said now, ‘You’ve grown somewhat since last we met.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Still working on the farm?’

  ‘Yes, s
ir.’

  ‘Not much future in that, is there?’

  She made no reply. She was beginning to experience a strange sensation, her skin was pricking and it wasn’t with the heat. She knew at this moment that she would rather have this man angry with her than smiling at her as he was doing now. ‘I’ve…I’ve got to be getting back, sir. Ex…Excuse me.’

  ‘I haven’t given you leave to go.’ The smile had gone from his face. ‘You don’t seem to know your place.’

  She was even surprised herself as she heard her voice saying, ‘My place is on the farm, sir. My master too is there.’

  As she watched his colour change she recalled that once before she had seen it look like this. And now, his voice and manner of the haughtiest, he said, ‘You’re insolent, girl.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to be, sir. I was merely pointing out that I don’t work for you, so therefore I cannot be expected to obey your orders.’ Eeh! she was talking like the parson, or like some character in the book she was reading just now.

  ‘Get out! Get off my land, and don’t let me see you here again. Do you hear? No matter who sends for you, don’t let me see you here again.’

  She backed from him, then turned and only just stopped herself from scurrying like a rabbit across the lawn. With an effort she kept her head up and her shoulders straight and her walk steady, at least until she got into the avenue of trees, where, as it had done earlier in the day, her body sagged.

  Two rumpuses in one day. It was too much, and now she was likely walking into another one. What would her reception be when she got back to the farm? Oh, why had things to happen to her like this? There was that in her that wanted to run and skip and laugh and be happy. She knew that she could tend the animals and do all the work that was laid upon her and still be happy if it wasn’t for people. Yes, that was the trouble, people: the mister, the missis, and Luke, even Barney. Oh yes, Barney. Barney was assuming a different kind of trouble in her mind.

  She skirted the farm and went straight to the cottage and changed into her working clothes.

  She found the farmyard empty. The whole place seemed quiet, but as she was about to enter the byres Luke came out.

  ‘You’re back then, me ladyship,’ he greeted her. ‘And I suppose you’ll be pleased to know that you’ve put me mother to bed. The first time in her life she’s taken to her bed in the day, but you’ve managed to do it, as you’ve managed to hook our Barney. But there’s somethin’ between hookin’ and gettin’ the fish out of water. You’ve got to play the big ’uns; a lot can happen in between times.’

  She slid past him into the byre and made for the far end where she stood with her back to one of the partitions and closed her eyes tightly. Of a sudden she wanted to cry.

  She hadn’t finished the milking of the second cow when Barney came into the byre, and standing over her as she leaned forward on the stool, he asked quietly, ‘How did it go?’

  ‘All right,’ she mumbled. Then lifting her eyes to him, she said, ‘Your mother’s in bed?’

  ‘Yes, ’tis the diarrhoea; she’s had it for a few days. But her temper brought it on worse.’

  ‘It wasn’t just the row then that’s made her bad?’

  ‘No, no.’ He shook his head. ‘She came back from church on Sunday with it.’ He laid his hand on her shoulder now, saying, ‘Don’t worry, things will plan out, you’ll see. One way or another they’re gona be all right for us, you’ll see.’

  And on this he turned and went out, and she repeated to herself, ‘All right for us,’ and then went on with the milking.

  It was as she reached the end of the byre and the last cow that Pete poked his head through the doorway, shouting, ‘Emma, there’s a fellow from the House wants you.’

  When she went into the yard she saw a small brake and a liveried man lifting a large hamper down from it, and as she neared him he looked at her and said pleasantly, ‘’Tis for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Then his voice lowering and his head poking towards her, he said, ‘You’re lucky to get it; the master was for stopping it, but the mistress said you had to have it, an’ what she says in the end goes.’ He nodded at her, and then after looking at her enquiringly for a moment, he said, ‘Got on the wrong side of His Highness, did you, lass? I saw him as he came up from the lawn, he looked like a frustrated bull. But then that’s nothin’ new for him. Anyway you amused the old boss, and that’s something, ’cos he’s never been out of doors for almost a year. He used to be very lively at one time. I worked over at his place, you know.’ He jerked his head. ‘I came to the Hall when he did, he asked for me. A fine man he’s been in his time. You should have seen him when he came back from abroad. Strappin’ he was, strappin’. Been a great hunter, you know’—again he nodded at her—‘and that’s why he likes your tricks I think.’ Then he added somewhat sadly, ‘But he’s going downhill fast, he’ll be lucky if he sees another year out. Anyway’—he thumbed down towards the hamper—‘you’ve got stuff in there that’ll last you a week or more. Miss Noble saw to its packing, so I understand. If it had been left to Mrs Atkins or Cook you would have had short shrift, I’m tellin’ you. Every man for himself up there. Times are changin’ and you’ll likely live to see them, lass. Yes, they’re changing. Well, I must away.’

  ‘Thank you, and’—she moved towards him as he mounted the brake—‘please thank Miss Noble, will you?’

  ‘Aye. I won’t be able to see her meself, but I’ll get word in to her that you’re grateful.’

  ‘I am. I am.’

  As the brake was turning in the yard before moving away, Lizzie came out of the farmhouse door and as she looked towards the hamper her face brightened for a moment; then without any preamble she said, ‘We better get it across.’ And she taking hold of one handle and Emma the other they went out of the yard and into the cottage. But after they had placed it on the table, Lizzie didn’t immediately go to open it but, looking across at Emma, she said, ‘She’s right bad, it’s the diarrhoea. She’s had it for days but wouldn’t give in. I’ve told him he should get the doctor. You see’—her voice dropped—‘Billy told me there’s a rumour of cholera going round in Gateshead Fell, and in Gateshead itself. It’s come over from Newcastle, and if it gets a hold there could be a repeat of what happened in the thirties. All over the country that was, and they were dropping like flies in Newcastle and about. Anyway, I’ve told him he should have the doctor, so it’s up to him what happens now.’

  What happened after that Emma looked back on as a nightmare.

  The doctor came to visit Dilly Yorkless the following morning and at first he diagnosed just a fever and a touch of the autumn bowel epidemic, but the following day he brought another man with him, and when he left they knew that the cholera was among them.

  Emma had never seen her granny run, but when she came running from the house across the yard and met her as she was emerging from the hen field, she asked, ‘What is it?’ And Lizzie replied, ‘’Tis as was feared.’

  ‘Oh, no, no!’

  ‘Aye. An’ look. Listen, girl, don’t you come near the house, nor me. I’ve got to be over there. You see to the animals, an’ you’ve got enough stuff in that hamper to last you for a week or so. Scour all the cans. I’ll wash all the kitchen utensils that’s needed in the house, and I’ll get the lads to empty the slops. You’re not to touch them, do you hear?’

  ‘Yes, Granny.’

  ‘Now do as I bid you: see to the cows and the animals but keep to this side of the yard, don’t come near the house, no matter what anybody says, him, or anybody else. Do you hear me?’

  Again she said, ‘Yes, Granny.’ Then putting her hand out towards her, she said, ‘But you…you could get it.’

  ‘I won’t get it, I’m as strong as a horse. But listen to me. Once you’ve finished your work don’t go out of the door, stay in the cottage and keep washing yourself. And don’t go near the middens unless you have to. Take your slops down to the burn and throw them in there.’


  ‘But Granny, I…I wash me hair in there at times.’

  ‘But you can still wash your hair in it, girl, it’s running fast. But now, do as I bid you and don’t come near me. If you want me for anything, shout across the yard. Now do you hear, lass?’

  Emma nodded and stared at her granny for a moment, and the tender look on Lizzie’s face made her want to put out her arms to her, she wanted to hold her, and be held; she wanted to talk to her, ask her what she should do about Barney, ask her about…marrying…and after, but what she said was, ‘Take care, Granny, please. Please take care.’

  ‘I’ll take care, lass. Don’t worry about me.’ And the glance they exchanged now was full of tenderness and simultaneously they both turned away from each other.

  For four days Emma kept to her side of the yard and whenever she was in the open she looked across towards the house. One time there was an argument going on between Barney and Pete about the buckets of slops standing outside the door. It was apparent that Pete didn’t savour the job of emptying them.

  She was becoming bone weary, for she was rising at four o’clock in the morning and staying on her legs till nine at night. The only one she spoke to was Billy. He too had been ordered to stay away from the house and, like hers, his work had almost doubled.

  On the sixth day of her working isolation she saw the parson. It was late in the evening. She was making her way to the cottage, almost dragging her feet, when she saw him through the dusk coming from the direction of the field. She reached the cottage door and opened it expecting him to come in, but when he was still some feet away from her he stopped and said quietly, ‘I won’t come any nearer, Emma. I just wanted to know how you are faring.’

  She looked at his face. It had taken on the hue of the coming night and looked grey, his eyes were red-rimmed; and he did not look spruce as he usually did. ‘How are you, Emma?’ he continued, and she answered, ‘I’m all right.’