The Tinker's Girl Page 31

  He looked from his mother to his father, then back to her, saying, 'Well, if you wouldn't have had us here there's plenty of jobs we could have got together. She's used to hard work and so am I: I've been well trained.'

  He was nodding towards his father now. 'And I wouldn't get any lower wages wherever I went, would I, Dad?

  because as you said, the farm is going to be mine one day and that's what I've got to work for, a meagre wage.

  Well, there now, you have it.'

  'What's gone wrong with you?' His mother's voice had an appeal in it and it was evident she was almost on the verge of tears. 'You've changed. Yes, you have.'

  'Perhaps, I have, Mam: I've grown; I'm nineteen, kicking twenty.'

  His father now quietly put in a question: 'You mean to say, lad, that you would take her on? Knowing it wasn't yours, you'd marry her?'

  The boy's answer was as quiet as before: 'Yes, Dad, I'd do that knowing it wasn't mine.'

  'And what d'you think Bruce would have to say about that?'

  'I don't know, Dad, what he'd have to say, but the only thing I know is that she swears it isn't his.'

  'Well, whose is it then? Do you know?'

  'No more than you at the moment;' but he could have said, Yes, Dad; I'm almost sure it's the pampered Mr Richard Baxton-Powell's, he who's never done a day's

  work in his life except dabble with a bit of paint, all because he's supposed to have recurrences of the fever.

  Recurrences of bloody laziness is how I see it. I've been made bloody sick at times with your pandering to the Baxton-Powells and the Rowlands just because they're your best customers. I could almost name the day he gave it to her. You would tell me, as Mam would too, to keep me mouth shut, and you would remind me again that they're our best customers.

  Roy turned slowly about and went back into the boot room, and after seating himself on a form and pulling on his boots again, he sat with his hands dangling between his knees for a moment, the while saying to himself, Yes, I could practically name the day when I went up there and I saw his horse in the stable, and I waited and waited, but neither she nor he came back. If it's born at the end of April, that'll put the stamp on it, and there he is roving the world. Touring they call it, touring. I wonder, while he's taking his new bride, if he remembers whoring with a bit of a lass who had likely become fascinated by his looks and his grand manner . . . Lasses are like that.

  When the door banged his mother and father looked at each other. They hadn't exchanged a word whilst waiting for him to leave the boot-room; and then Dilly Stevens looked at her husband while the tears ran down her face, and she said, 'I feel that we've lost him, and all through that dirty little trollop.'

  Mr Stevens didn't contradict her, but he put his hand on her shoulder and patted it as he said, 'Things'll work out; they've got to. But, Dilly, listen to me: if the worst comes to the worst and she decides to change her mind and take him, they would have to come here, because I can't lose him. He's me only son and . . . and I'm rare fond of him.' There was a break in his voice now as he added, 'You liked the lass. You once said as much that you wished you had a daughter like her. Well, she's slipped up somewhere. You've got to try to get over that, because whatever happens, we mustn't lose Roy.'

  There had arisen on the farm a kind of mutual understanding: each got on with his own tasks. They would sit down to meals together, when the two men would usually discuss the stock: how many gimmers they could expect to be lambing for the first time come April next; with luck, a hundred or more, provided the winter was kind and there was little foot rot or wet mouth. Only good thing about wet mouth was that it didn't spread like foot rot, but then, it could kill an animal off quite easily.

  And Jinnie just listened. She was knowledgeable now about all they were saying; at one time she had imagined their reference to hogs was to pigs, whereas it was referring to lambs more than a year old; and when they were speaking of wethers, it had nothing to do with the climate.

  Max was now asking how many sheep Bruce intended to take down to the market next week, and he answered,

  'Oh, twenty, at the most; we'll keep the bulk for nearer Christmas when, hopefully, the prices will be higher.'

  Max was laughing now as he said, 'I was thinking about P-P-Peter Locke when we were shearing in June, remember? He t-t-told me some tales. Funny one about a farmer over C-C-Corbridge way, who was supposed to get m-m-mortallious the night before market and regularly beat up his wife. He only ever drank at market times, but on market day itself he would stay as sober as a judge so that he could bring his m-m-money home intact. Nobody ever saw him drunk on mmmarket day.'

  Bruce laughed and said, 'Yes, I've heard that one before. And he comes out with funnier ones still.' He looked across the table at Jinnie and said, 'This is

  a nice pudding. Is it a new recipe?'

  'Not by me; I got it off a piece of old wrapping paper. Some newspapers have a Ladies' Corner. There's some more if you would like it.'

  'Oh yes, please,' and Bruce handed her his plate on which she spooned a piece of light sponge covered in jam; and she said to Max, 'What about you?'

  'Now w-w-why bother asking me; one plateful is like an apple to a horse.'

  She smiled as she replenished his plate; then she sat down to finish her own portion, and with her eyes on it she addressed herself to Bruce, saying, 'When you're next in Hexham would you be getting me a cookery book? There's a little shop there that sells them.'

  'Cookery book?' He stopped eating. 'Yes. Yes, of course. But. . .'he was about to add, But your cooking satisfies us ... me. I never knew what it was to have a meal like this until you came on the scene; but that would have sounded as if he were condoning all she had done, and his mind was far from condoning the fact that her belly was swelling daily. And yet he never consciously looked at it, but kept his eyes on her face, and to do that was painful enough, for there was a hurt in him so deep he thought it would be with him for ever.

  If he could have put it into plain words he would have said he felt despised. A woman might have used the word

  'spurned' to express the same feeling, and of course he had been spurned. And yet, on the other hand, she had never promised him anything, had she, so how could he feel spurned? In his world, if a man in his position left a girl in the lurch, it would be said that she had been chucked. But he had never been close enough to Jinnie in that way to be thought of as having been chucked.

  Yet, as near as he had been, the effect was the same.

  It was the following week, and Bruce and Max had returned from market after a good day of selling.

  Here and there Bruce had received some hard looks I and once or twice a sly smile, but he had ignored them.

  He'd had little to say to anyone except when dealing over the price for his sheep. He had bought the cookery book Jinnie wanted. It had cost sixpence and the woman had smiled and said, 'Taking it up as a pastime?' to which he had answered in the same vein, saying, 'Something

  like that.'

  As they had driven home, sitting side by side on the high front seat of the cart, he and Max had hardly exchanged a word until the farm came in sight, when Bruce had muttered, 'Heard anything?' and to this Max had answered, 'S-s-same as you, I suppose. He's bbback but then he was bound to come, since her mother died.'

  They had passed the cottage door and reached the stables and had drawn the horse and cart to a stop, before Max spoke again: 'W-w-whatever we decide to do about him, mind, is going to affect her.'

  'He's not getting off with it.' Bruce pulled another bale towards him, and actually throwing it against the I barn wall, he growled, 'I'm having it out with him one way or another.'

  'One way or t'other,' Max agreed. 'Yes, one way or t'other. Me, I still f-f-feel like throttling him; but)

  that would get us nowhere, except perhaps into jjjail. And what we've got to remember now is that with

  what's c-c-coming, more than ever n-n-now she'll need protection, if she's n-n-not goi
ng to land b-b-back where she c-c-came from.'

  'Let's sleep on it,' said Bruce. 'But I mean to confront him, by God! I do that.'

  They were to know of Richard's reaction the following day. Jinnie had been to the barn to take a can of tea and two mugs for Bruce and Max, who were busily constructing slatted crates to house a number of young pullets that were destined for the Hexham weekly market. Emerging from the barn, she was about to put her head down against the wind when, in the distance, she spotted the horse and rider, and knowing that she would not make the cottage door before he would come abreast of it, she dashed into the stable, next to the barn, and there she stood behind the door, pressed against the wall.

  She did not know whether or not he had seen her, but even if he were to look in the stable he wouldn't see her behind the door; but he would hear them in the barn and so would make for there. Dear God.

  She had her hands tight to her throat now. He had promised; he had said he would never come up here again. Mrs Stevens, in her chatter, had passed on the rumour that he was intending to reside permanently in France, where he had a painting studio, and this had upset his wife's mother and caused her to take to her bed again, permanently this time, for she had died, and that must have been what had brought them back.

  How long had he been gone?

  She turned her face to the rough wall and her fingers clawed at it as she prayed: Don't let them do anything to him. Please God, don't let them hurt him.

  And when she heard Bruce's voice yell, 'What the hell do you want here!' she closed her eyes tight and again she prayed.

  Beyond the wall, in the barn, Richard was staring back at the two men who were glaring at him, and his voice had a surprised yet disdainful note in it as he said, 'What do you mean, what the hell do I want here? I could say, what the hell did I ever want here?'

  'Yes, you could that. You could that.'

  'What's wrong?' He looked towards Max for enlightenment, and Max growled, 'You shouldn't be stststanding there asking me that, because let me tttell you, the very sight of you m-m-makes my hands itch to get at you.'

  Richard actually took two steps backwards; then, his head drooping for a moment, he shook it before raising it sharply again, saying, 'Oh, she told you what happened then, did she? Well, it takes two to make a pact, you know, of any kind.'

  As Bruce made a quick movement forward, Max gripped his arm and jerked him back, saying, 'He's n-n-not worth your spit, Bruce.'

  Glaring at his one-time friend, Bruce said, 'No, she didn't tell us of any pact, but her belly has.'

  'Her . . . her what? Oh no! Oh no!' They watched him cover his eyes with his hand, then drawing it slowly down his face as he murmured, 'Oh! no. Well, after that I can understand how you both feel. But I assure you it had not been my intention to take her; it just happened.

  And believe me, I did not force her. I know it must sound foolish, but I never thought of the consequences.'

  'No, you didn't; you just had your bit of fun and then . . .'

  'I didn't have my bit of fun, as you call it; and I can tell you this, she was more ready for it than I was. Oh yes, yes, she was. As I said, it takes two to make a pact and I would never have forced myself on her, never; but to put it bluntly, she was waiting for it, waiting for me to go ahead. Oh yes, she was. And don't come that with me, Bruce, because if there's any punching to do, I can do my share of it.'

  When Bruce did not immediately come back at him, he said, in an airy sort of way, 'Look; she knew what she was doing because she talked about class. Yes, she did. She was aware we are poles apart. She was very sensible, always very sensible. We talked about my coming marriage. She said she was quite aware of it but that she . . . well, she was more than fond of me

  - and yes, I was of her - and she knew nothing would ever come of it. Even if I hadn't already been engaged to be married she was aware that I couldn't have married her. In fact, if I remember rightly, she asked me if I would have married her if I wasn't engaged; and well, what could I say but yes, just to please her? You know yourself, Bruce, you and I had discussed class and all the intricacies of it, and you also know that I have fought it so as to remain your friend, and I might tell you that that's caused hell in my home many a time.

  And you're a man; just imagine the reaction if I had mentioned her at home, I ask you.'

  'You better not ask me anything further,' retorted Bruce, 'but I'm going to tell you something. It was always drilled into me that I saved your life once, but I tell you this now; I'm not going to save your reputation.

  I've been named as the father, but I'm not going to pay for a pleasure that I've never had, so what are you going to do about it? She's going to have your child. Who's going to bring it up, see to its education, because you'd like it to be educated, wouldn't you?'

  In the ensuing silence and in the dim light of the barn, Bruce and Max watched the figure before them blanch and they watched him put his hand out towards a stanchion as if for support, and when he muttered,

  'Don't. . . don't do this to me, Bruce, for what has been between us, please! I... I will see to it, I mean, maintain it. I can make private arrangements; but don't, please upset my whole life. I ... I am now happily married.

  My wife is young and . . . well, you know, you've seen I her. Please, I beg of you. I definitely promise you the child will be well provided for in any way Jinnie wishes.

  I'll do anything as long as you don't break up my life and that of my family. Oh yes, that of my family. As you know I've depended upon them for everything, but with the death of my mother-in-law, I no longer need assistance from my own parents. There is money for me to use, and I'll use it. I promise you. I will use it in whatever way Jinnie wishes.'

  It was Max who noticed her first; then Bruce; and only when their heads moved to the side and they stared towards the barn opening did Richard swing round; and there he saw Jinnie.

  She was wearing her old grey coat and it didn't hide the bulge beneath her waist, and his eyes were drawn to it. He stepped sidewards and leaned against the post, and he bowed his head and was about to say something, when her voice came at him, so cool and calm it sent a shiver through them all. What she said was, 'Thank you, Mr Baxton-Powell; but believe me when I say I have no intention of accepting support from you for the half hour of fun we had together on a very hot morning. Things happen in the heat that one wouldn't dream about in colder weather. Don't you agree?'

  He had straightened up and was staring at her. She was taller. She was filling out naturally, and she was different. This wasn't the Jinnie that had brought him such joy that morning; this could be a woman of the world of his own class taking the situation in hand, and this irritated him. He wanted to come back at her, saying, 'Don't try to play the lady, it doesn't suit you,' but this wouldn't have been true: she was playing the lady, and it did suit her. But he didn't like her in this part. That she could play such a part brought a sudden fear to him: she had the power to ruin his life, his marriage. And he had found that he was liking marriage; likely because he realised that he loved Lillian.

  This girl who had been so gentle, so frail in his arms, so wonderful in loving, he now saw almost as a vixen.

  And she was speaking again:

  'As for the exposure that you fear,' she was saying,

  'Bruce knows how I feel about that, so your fears can be allayed in that quarter so long as you--' she stopped and, her head thrusting forward, she ground out, 'keep out of my sight and never again interfere with me or mine.' And she repeated, 'Interfere in any way, you understand?' Then she walked past him to Max and Bruce, still standing close together and, bowing her head, she said, 'Tell him to leave.'

  Bruce put his hand on her trembling shoulder and, looking over her head, he said to his one-time friend,

  'You heard. And for my part and for your safety, don't show yourself up here ever again.'

  Never before in his life had Richard BaxtonPowell felt like a whipped terrier. Although he kept his back straight a
nd his walk firm, he was actually shaking like a leaf when he mounted his horse; and not until he was well clear of the farm and downhill in a shaded lane did he dismount.

  Looping the reins of his horse over a branch, he sat on a fallen tree and dropped his head into his hands: Just what had made him go up there? Although he had promised her he would never again do so, he really I

  had expected her to be pleased to see him. Had he imagined he'd be able to take her on the side once more? Yes, he had, because he could not dismiss the fascination she'd had for him. But it wasn't to be classed in the same light as the love he now knew he had for Lillian. He had also lost his friend and there was a deep sadness in him about that, for he had nothing in common with any men of his age or older that he knew, not in this country, anyway.

  He rose from the log, took the reins from the branch, mounted and told himself grimly that he could not under any circumstances settle here now.

  They had gone into the house, she walking between them with her head down and her lips trembling but her eyes dry. She had heard every word that had been said. First of all, she had feared for his safety at their hands, but then, after he had spoken his thoughts of how he must have always considered her, as someone very far below him, even below the servant class in his own home, as a silly girl mostly wearing a coarse apron and clogs or boots and an old grey coat, she was not only surprised and hurt to the core, but also furiously angry.

  But surmounting all was a feeling of humiliation.

  Sitting at the table, her head bowed, there reverberated through her mind the word 'Arcadia', and it brought back the memory of his love-making, at a time when he had seemed like a prince and had made her feel that she was indeed a princess. She could not believe that the man she had just heard speaking could be one and the same as the ardent lover of that morning

  . . . that morning, that time he had said was so beautiful it could not possibly happen again.