The Tinker's Girl Read online

  Altogether Max was very pleased with the accommodation.

  As he had pointed out to Bruce, after lying in the twelfth bed, the one that was farthest away from the door, since he could remember, this was a private domain, and he was very grateful for it.

  After the sheep had been brought down to the lower pastures, there was much less work to do, so Bruce let Max carry on with his suggestion of making the old cow byre fit to be used again; although where the money to buy the cow would come from, he didn't know.

  Max spent much of his time on the building next to the byre, and, whenever possible, Jinnie would visit him.

  These, of course, had to be flying visits because, these days, the missis was keeping her on her toes. One day, Jinnie had dared to protest that she had the chickens to see to, and the missis had shouted at her, 'You don't keep dogs and bark yourself. You brought him here to work, so let him get on with it. He eats enough for two, so let him work enough for two.'

  There were times when Jinnie came to wonder how it was possible to feel sorry for someone and hate them at the same time.

  Yet these days, on the whole, Rose Shaleman was much quieter. There was no longer a nightly conversation with her son. When she had bad breathing attacks, he would still see to her, but afterwards he no longer sat with her until she went to sleep. He would say, 'You'll be all right now,' and leave her. And what conversation she had with Jinnie was always in the form of either an order or a reprimand.

  At one time, Rose might have thought that if Bruce married the girl he could do worse; but no longer, not since she had brought that beast to the place. He was just another throw-out from the workhouse, as Jinnie was.

  The Shalemans could, by no stretch of the imagination, claim any prestige in the farming world, but they had survived on the sheep, and independently; and no matter what the general opinion was, they hadn't risen from hinds either; in fact, right back, one of their ancestors had owned Valley Farm.

  Rose Shaleman was now asking herself why the girl should be wanting to change her half-day off from a Sunday to a Saturday, and further, why she wanted to go down to the Stevens's farm. She had said it was to ask Mrs Stevens how to make a Christmas cake. Rose couldn't come back at her and say, 'Why didn't you ask me?' because she had already admitted to the girl that she was no hand at any kind of cake-making. And now, there she was off on the cart with that weird individual.

  She strained to sit up in bed and through the window just managed to see the high back of the cart disappearing.

  She lay back on her pillows and for a moment was consumed with a feeling of loneliness, which led on to bitterness. It seemed as if those two had taken over the place. She wished she was dead.

  The thought brought her up from her pillows and almost aloud she said, Oh no, I don't! She was afraid of death and what lay after. For a moment she wished that Hal was back . . . But then she mustn't be here when Hal came back. He was too much, was Hal.

  Jinnie took the seat Mrs Stevens offered her, a padded black oak settle set at an angle to the roaring fire that fed two ovens; and there were two hobs, on one a kettle, on the other a large black pan. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly agape. She had never imagined anything like this farm kitchen, every corner of which was bright.

  On the mantelpiece were several pairs of shining brass candlesticks. The wall above was thick with pewtered plates, and to the far side of the fireplace from where she was sitting, an oak dresser stood, bright with china of every description. To her amazement she saw that apart from a cooking table a long oak trestle table stood at the far end of the large room, and positioned around it some chairs. Four black rafters crossed the ceiling, each one heavy with cuts of ham. The floor was flagged, but smoothly flagged, and there, beneath her feet, was a rug, a carpet rug, a real carpet rug.

  'Now, you can have tea, coffee or a glass of ale,' said Mrs Stevens.

  'What? Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. Thank you. I'll have coffee, if I may.'

  The small woman laughed as she leaned towards Jinnie, saying, 'You were miles away, lass.'

  'No, no, Mrs Stevens, I wasn't miles away; no, I was right here, 'cos I've never seen such a beautiful room.'

  'Oh. Oh now; well, that's nicely spoken.' The little woman seemed to bounce to the table now, and as she began spooning coffee from a caddy into a tall jug she said, 'Well yes, yes, you're right. I'm very proud of my kitchen; I have a place for everything and everything in its place. What's that you say?' She turned again and looked at Jinnie, whose head was now moving slowly as her eyes were taking in every item in the room, and after a moment she answered, 'I said I could live in this room for ever.'

  'Huh! No, you couldn't, girl; no, you couldn't. I have to get out of it at times. I look forward to my breaks on market day and my chapel on Sunday and my meetings once a week, because, you know, there's an old saying that you can get too much of a good thing, and if you're wise you don't take too much of a good thing when you know you've got it.' Then, her voice changing, her hands became still and looking at Jinnie with pity in her gaze, she said, 'I've never been up there, not for years and years, not since I was a girl, but I understand you've got it rough.'

  All Jinnie could answer to this was, 'I ... I like the open air.'

  'Well' - again the little woman was laughing - 'you'll get plenty of that up there, and it's cheap. But now you tell me what you want to know. It's about a cake, isn't it?'

  'Yes. Yes, Mrs Stevens. Well, you see, when your son came up for the eggs he asked if I was baking for Christmas, and he said you made grand cakes. Well, I

  ... I don't know how to make a Christmas cake and I would like the men to have one. So I asked him, if I came down, would you tell me how.'

  Mrs Stevens stared at the young girl: she was a bonny lass; over-thin perhaps, but you couldn't get away from the fact that she was bonny. And by! she must have had a time of it up there, the tales that Roy had brought down since the agreement about exchanging oats and taties for eggs and such like. She herself had always refused to keep hens, too much bother and little result. As for pigs: no, she didn't like pigs either. They'd kept some when she first came here, but that was years ago. She had soon made her new husband understand that she would never attend to pigs or chickens; the house was her concern, that, and supervising the dairy. Oh yes, the dairy. And he had seen it her way, for now they had a real fine herd of cows and the best horses in the district.

  Charlie had a soft spot for young Bruce up there. He'd always liked Bruce, and yet he had hinted at things about him. Couldn't believe he was a son of Pug Shaleman.

  Hal now, yes; he was Pug all over again. Anyway, he was out to help Bruce, and he was tickled to death by Brace's new help and he had said, laughingly, that if Max could wrestle he would make a fortune at the games.

  And then there was this girl and her Roy. He was struck on her, was Roy; but if she was to speak the truth she wasn't for it. The lass was bonny all right, but she was from the workhouse, and supposedly from the tinker's clan. Well, that meant the gypsies, didn't it, or their like? Yet, as Roy said, she was well spoken and worked like two donkeys up there. And yes, she would have to, looking after that lazy trollop, for Rose Shaleman had never liked work, and if everybody took to their beds when they felt off-colour there would be such a to-do in farmhouses, wouldn't there? And then there was Mister Richard going up there. Funny thing, wasn't it, a friendship between the high and the low?

  Yet if it hadn't been for Bruce, Mister Richard wouldn't be here today. Still, she knew it wasn't looked upon with favour by Mister Richard's people, and this she could understand, oh yes, because she was feeling the same about her Roy and this lass sitting here, for this lass was, in some way, beginning to touch her own life.

  She said now, 'It takes a lot of ingredients, you know, to make a Christmas cake; and it should have been made weeks gone and wrapped up and put away in a tin.'

  'Really?'

  'Oh yes. Oh yes; must be two months since I made mine, half a dozen
or more of them.'

  'Haifa dozen Christmas cakes!'

  'Yes. And don't look so surprised; they get through them, not only the family, but the people who drop in here, especially at New Year.' She went on, 'What kind of an oven have you up there?'

  'Oh, it's only small compared with these.' Jinnie pointed to the black-leaded oven doors.

  'Dear, dear! A little oven.' Mrs Stevens now handed Jinnie a cup of steaming coffee, which didn't fit in with her idea of coffee, for surely that was cream floating on

  the top; and when she was then handed a plate of stottie cake, the little woman said, 'Now, get that down you, and then we'll talk business.'

  It was only a few minutes later when the business began with the farmer's wife pulling up a chair towards Jinnie and saying, 'Now this is how it's done.'

  Five minutes later Jinnie asked pointedly, 'But how much would all that cost? There's such a lot of fruit and fat needed, and you say it must be butter; and beer an'

  all.'

  'Oh, I don't rightly know, lass, I've never reckoned.'

  Mrs Stevens looked at Jinnie with a touch of pity in her glance, and then said, 'I tell you what, my dear, I'll give you a Christmas cake as a present for yourself.'

  'Oh! Mrs Stevens. Oh! how wonderful. How good of you. Oh, but I could pay, I could pay you something.'

  'Have you enough money to pay me, lass?' There was a look of amusement on the face that was pushed close to Jinnie's, and she said, 'I... I've got thirty-four shillings left, but. . . well, I had two pounds, but I spent some on a present for Miss Caplin and a reading book and some notebooks for Max, and . . . well, I'm sort of saving up for something for Bruce. I want to buy a cow.'

  At this Jinnie had to put her hand out quickly to prevent the little woman falling off her cracket, because she was shaking so much with her laughter, and it was a surprisingly loud and boisterous laugh to come from such a small frame. It was at that moment that the door opened and the farmer himself appeared, and Jinnie noticed immediately that he was in his stockinged feet.

  And there was a broad smile on his face as he said,

  'Tell me what's tickling you, woman. I haven't heard you laugh like that for a long time.' At this his wife turned round to him and she gasped and swallowed deeply before, pointing a thumb back towards Jinnie, she spluttered, 'She wants to buy a cow ... a cow. She's got thirty-four shillings saved up. Did you ever hear the like?'

  'Well, missis--' He looked towards Jinnie now, his face a beam as he said, 'You have to start somewhere.

  So you've got thirty-four shillings, lass, and you want to buy a cow? Well, if you ever want to buy a cow of good stock this is the place to come. But how long d'you think it'll take you to save up enough to buy a cow?'

  'I ... I don't really know; I haven't talked about it to anybody because I ... well, I thought that with Max mending the cowshed and the place next door that could be a dairy, because back in the house--'

  and she looked from one to the other as if she had to explain the word - 'workhouse, he looked after the cows; and there was a dairy there and I just thought how wonderful it would be for Mister Bruce if I could get a cow. I wasn't meaning one of yours, Mr Stevens.'

  She looked at the big bony man who, hands on knees, leaned towards her. 'I meant just sort of a ... an old one, well, you know, that wasn't giving all that amount of milk and was nearly finished, and well, just to give him a start. I thought, well, Max could milk it; and then I knew that was silly, 'cos Max leaves us in the New Year.'

  'Oh, he does, lass, does he?'

  She nodded. 'Yes, he's got a situation over in what he calls Weardale, and a cottage to himself. It'll be very good for him. But I'll miss him; and so will Mister Bruce, because he's done such a lot of work up there mending things that you never thought could be mended. He's very handy, is Max.'

  'Yes; yes, I know that; I've just been talking to him along there. I've left him with our Roy. He could show one or two of our men some ropes, I think, if only he could talk straight. Roy seems to have got the hang of his lingo, but I can't. Roy says he's got it all up top.

  'Tis a pity he's going. Would you still want a cow if he left?'

  'Oh yes. Yes; I want it for Mister Bruce, 'cos he's finding things rough. I mean, not that it would help straight away, but later on, if we could make butter and cheese for market.' Her voice trailed away. 'Oh, we wouldn't want to upset you in the market.'

  Again the farmer's wife started to laugh, and at this her husband said, 'Give over, Dilly. Give over; this is serious business.' And now he sat himself down by Jinnie's side, and when he put an arm round her shoulders his wife said, 'Take no notice of anything he says from now on, girl, because he's quite capable of promising you a cow if you'll run off with him.'

  At this his red weather-beaten face was thrust towards Jinnie's, and he said, 'Would you run off with me?' and she, joining in the joke, said, 'Yes; yes, Mr Stevens, for a cow; but it would have to be a good one, not one I would get for thirty-four shillings.'

  Now the man took his arm away from Jinnie and lay back against the settle, and he was roaring with laughter as he said, 'She's all there, this one, isn't she?

  I can see what our Roy means.'

  'Shut your mouth, you big galoot, and I'll tell you what you can do. You can go down to the cellar and bring up a couple of bottles of my home-made wine, a parsnip and an elderberry. Yes, that's it, a parsnip and an elderberry; and on your way back pick up a pound of butter from the dairy and a shive of cheese; and if you can remember all that, put it in a basket.' He got up from the settle and, looking down at Jinnie and without any laughter on his face, he said, 'You really were saving up to buy a cow?'

  'Yes, Mr Stevens.'

  'And, as I understand it, you get a shilling a week?'

  'Yes.'

  He shook his head; then turned away and muttered something that Rose Shaleman had muttered once before; 'He could do worse.'

  Jinnie could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the big, beautifully smelling Christmas cake, the slab of butter, the shive of cheese that must have weighed all of two pounds, and the two bottles of wine, as well as a big, round stottie cake.

  As Mrs Stevens was packing them in the basket she said, 'One of these bottles is for the big fella outside; and you'll give him a share of this other, won't you?'

  'Oh, I always halve what I have with Max,' she said;

  'always. He's . . . he's like a father to me; he's always looked after me, Mrs Stevens.' She was feeling teary; she did not know whether it was because of her talking about Max caring for her, or for the kindness of this little woman in heaping this wonderful food on her.

  As Mrs Stevens was lifting the basket from the table, she said, 'Is this too heavy for you to carry to the cart? I'm not letting that big fella in here with his outsize feet. Look; you take the two bottles in your arms and I'll take the basket.'

  As Jinnie went to follow her, she said, 'Mrs Stevens.'

  'Yes, lass?' The small body was turned towards her.

  'I'll never forget this visit, and I'll never be able to thank you enough. I wish there was something I could do for you, but I know there isn't, or ever will be but

  . . . but I thank you.'

  'Oh, lass, lass. 'Tis nothing; absolutely nothing. When you have plenty, as we have, you don't miss it; though of course it would be something if we had very little.

  That's how our parson often puts it; and he's right. Now come along; I don't want you to shed any tears on my behalf: you've got to get back up on that farm and start saving more for your cow.' And again Mrs Stevens was rocking with her laughter; and when they got into the yard, there was Max standing by the cart with Roy at his side, and Roy, turning to his mother, asked, 'What's so funny? I want a laugh an' all.'

  'You'll laugh later on, lad, when I tell you; or then, on the other hand, you mightn't. Here, girl! give me those bottles.' And now she turned to Max, saying, 'And you, big fellow, take them and push them down the side there . . . Th
at's it. And be careful of them.'

  Max now took the basket from the woman, who hardly came up to his chest, and placed it between a sack of potatoes, two sacks of oats and some bales of hay, then turned to see Roy hoisting Jinnie on to the seat.

  Lastly he bent down to the farmer's wife and, his mouth agape for a moment, he brought out the words,

  'Th-th-thank you;' and she was checked from answering by his struggling with the next word, 'Grgrgrateful.

  Wish I could stay . . . help with h-h-horses, big horses

  . . . shires.'

  'Yes, indeed.' Charlie Stevens was nodding at him.

  'Yes, shire horses, the best,'

  'Y-y-yes, straight furrow.'

  'You said it, man. You've said it, straight furrow. I understood that all right. Yes, indeed.'

  Max went round to the other side of the cart and after seating himself, he looked across Jinnie to Roy, who was reaching up to Jinnie, saying, 'Give it a thought;' and she answered, 'Yes; but I don't think so.'

  Max jerked the reins and the horse moved forward, and Jinnie turned in her seat and waved to her benefactors.

  They had gone some way before Max asked, 'What's he want, that Roy?'

  ' He wants to know if I would go to the dance in the New Year; they're having it in their barn; but I said I didn't think so.'

  'Why not? Nice fffella.'

  'Yes, he is; but how could I go to a dance, Max? I can't dance; and I haven't a dress or shoes or anything, have I? But believe me, oh please, Max, believe me, I'm quite satisfied as I am.'

  'No . . . nobody satisfied ..."

  Back at the farm, Mr Stevens said to his son, 'What were you asking her?'

  'Just if she could come to the do in the barn, Dad.'

  'And she said no?'

  'Along those lines.'

  'Aye, well.' The farmer made to move off, saying,