The sound of scuffling round the corner of the barn brought him walking again, and in the distance he saw Jinnie grabbing the cock by its tail, then expertly holding down his wings, and by the time he reached the crees she was pushing him in.
She had seemed unaware of his approach, yet she spoke to him without turning her head, saying, 'He does this every night, y'know. He gets to the door after they're all in, then turns and looks at me and hops off again. I'm sure he does it on purpose, that it's a kind of game.' She now closed the door of the hen crees and slipped the peg into the staple; then brushing her hands one against the other, she turned to him and looked at him squarely for a moment before, without any lead up to the subject in question, she said, 'The missis doesn't like me reading, does she?'
For a moment, he was slightly taken aback and he found himself stammering: 'W-w-well, she doesn't understand the BBBible.'
'You don't much either, but you're not nasty about it.'
'How d'you know I know nothing about the Bible?'
There was a surprised note in his voice.
'Well' - her head wagged - 'you've asked me to tell you the stories I know from the Bible.'
'Yes; yes, I have, because I like to hear the way you tell them. And let me tell you something, miss' - he now bent towards her - 'your stories are not always true, I mean they're not always really right.'
'Oh yes, they are. Parson . . .'
'Yes, I know all about the parson, but you've got a wonderful imagination, Jinnie, and you paint your words.'
'Paint me words? I don't paint me . . . what d'you mean, paint me words? Tell lies?'
'No, no; it's something to be proud of, having a good imagination and putting a different meaning on things.'
They were walking away from the hen enclosure now and after a moment she asked quietly, 'Where did you learn about the Bible?'
'Oh, for a short period, very short period, I went to Sunday school; then came the time with Mister Richard, and I saw him pretty often. He taught me, yes and pretty often, for nearly two years. The second year he was taking lessons again. And, you know, his family is very church-going; everybody in the house gathers between the hall and the dining-room for prayers before breakfast, and it's the same at night.'
'Really! Every day?'
'Yes, every day.'
'Oh.' She was smiling now. 'We only had it on a Sunday; and some people didn't like that. I did. Well, not listening to sermons, but the reading and the stories.'
She glanced at him now, saying, 'And . . . and that's where you learned all about the Bible and things?'
He laughed outright as he said, 'Learnt all about the Bible, Jinnie? I'm afraid not; I listened and I took in bits and pieces, snatches.' Then his voice trailing away, he said, 'I suppose I could've learned to read and write if I'd merely... well, mentioned it, but likely Richard thought I could already. Yes, that's it; he thought I could. Well, now he knows differently.' And he sighed.
They were nearing the corner of the barn when the neighing of a horse came to them, and they looked sharply at each other, and it was Jinnie who said, ' 'Tis the Mister; he's back early.'
Her words were significant, and Bruce thought, Yes, he's back early, early for him.
He hurried forward, she by his side, and when they reached the cottage door they both stood peering into the distance to see a man driving a horse and trap come out of the gloom.
Peter Locke waited to pull the horse to a standstill, when he himself was looking down on to Bruce and the young girl, and he said, 'Hello, there. Aye-aye! I suppose you're surprised to see me, and driving a trap?
Mr Stevens said to me, "You'd better take it, Peter, 'cos you've got a long trek back after you've been up there.
And you're the one that seems to know more about it than most; so you'd better put it over like . . . what y'know about it, if you see what I mean."'
He jumped down from the trap, saying, 'Can I hitch her to anything? 'Cos I can't stay long, and I wouldn't want her to go jaunting off in the hills on her own. That would put the finish to a very odd day, wouldn't it?'
'What are you talking about, Peter?'
'Well, give me a chance, Bruce, to get inside; I'm not going to go over all this twice.'
Bruce had taken the reins from the elderly man and hitched them to a post near the door. Then the three of them made their way into the kitchen.
Rose Shaleman was already sitting bolt upright in bed, and her greeting was, 'What do you want, Peter Locke?'
'I want nothing, missis; I've just come to tell you something.'
'Sit down.' Bruce pulled out a chair, and Peter Locke said, 'Ta, Bruce. Ta. I always get off me legs when I can.'
'What d'you mean, tell us something? Where's Pug?'
'Well, you know as much as me at this minute, missis, where your husband is. I can only tell you where I left him; and that was on the station, Catton way. He had booked to Newcastle, but would have to change at Hexham, I told him that.'
'You told him what? What in the name of God are you on about?'
'Shut up! Ma, and listen. Go on, Peter.'
'Your husband's gone off, missis; where, I don't know, but he's made it plain to everybody that he's off, and for good. He was questioned when it came to selling the cart and horse, but, as he said, Mister Richard was doing you all fine, and because Bruce wasn't yet fit to manage, he was going to send up another man. But few believe this, because they know who holds Mister Richard's purse-strings: his old man.'
'What you on about, Peter? Mister Richard was due to leave last night.'
'Oh yes, that's what I'm meaning; that's what your da said, but that it had been all arranged beforehand.'
'God almighty!' The cry came from Rose, and Bruce saw his mother flop back on the pillows. He stood looking down at the drover as he asked, 'And he sold everything?'
'Oh yes, naturally. Well, the stock was for sale, wasn't it? But I didn't think he would get rid of the old cart and horse. I couldn't see any need for that meself; neither could Mr Stevens; but at five pounds for the horse and three pounds for the cart ... of course, as you know yourself, they both had had a lot of wear. Oh aye, a lot of wear.'
Jinnie was standing at the end of the table, her hands gripped together, and she watched Bruce pull out a chair and almost drop on to it.
Rose's voice came from the bed now like a deep croak,
'What did he get for the stock?'
'Oh' - Peter Locke's voice was airy - 'you wouldn't believe it. Everybody around thought it would be low, but no, there were some good dealings the day; the good lambs went a guinea a head. And then there were twenty-five piglets. Pug took out the odd one, and the other two dozen went to Carters of Hexham.'
'What did he get for them?' Again Rose's voice came from the bed.
'Now, missis, I'm not sure; I wasn't there at the time. But prices seemed to be very good the day, and I wouldn't be surprised if they fetched ten shillings each.
Although what he got for the lambs was surprising, and fifty of them, besides the few old sheep, he would probably have picked up nearly eighty pounds. You did have them down on the bottoms for a time, and that would have put a bit of weight on them.'
'He'll come back; and just wait till he does!' Rose Shaleman's words were weighed with threat, and Peter Locke stood up, looking from one to the other, and I
said, 'I wouldn't bank on it, missis. You could have; but in the bar he played the big fella and stood a round of drinks, and then brought out all that about Mister Richard; and later, after he sold the cart and horse, too,
it was evident he was going to do a bunk.'
Bruce's voice was low as he asked, 'Did he say anything to you? I mean, leave a message of any kind? You said you saw him on the station.'
'Well, he said a lot of things I couldn't really make sense of, but he did say he was heading for Norfolk eventually. Had some people there once, he told me.
He give me me due, but not a penny over, and him with his pockets
weighed down, as they could never have been before in his life.'
There came into Bruce's mind the picture of the small figure standing up in the cart and looking back towards the huddle of buildings. He knew now that it had been his way of saying goodbye to them.
Peter Locke was addressing him across the table, saying, 'He's left you in a nice hole, anyway; you not right on your pins yet and with a long winter ahead.
Scurvy trick, I call it ... scurvy. But he's not much of a loss, I would say.' And with this he rose, adding, 'After I drop the trap I still have a long haul. I must be off.'
When he turned and made to go out, Jinnie sprang to the door and pulled it open, and when he came abreast of her he stopped and looked at her and said, 'You're growing, lass, aye, noticeably growing. Bonny with it.
Good-night all.'
'Good-night, mister.'
Bruce followed Peter outside, and after the drover had mounted the trap he said to him quietly, 'Thanks, Peter.'
'I wish it could be something different you were thanking me for. I reckon he took a tidy pile with him; but you know, Bruce, it won't last for ever, and you'll likely be hearing from him again. You can't really see any relatives in Norfolk or anywhere else greeting him with open arms. Well, I'll be off ... Get up, there! . .'
As Bruce entered the kitchen Jinnie was screwing the kettle into the heart of the fire, and she turned towards him saying, 'I'll make a strong cup of tea eh, Mister Bruce?' but before he could answer her his mother yelled, 'You'll make no cups of tea until you're told, girl; and you'll be lucky if you get a cup of tea a day after this.'
Bruce's voice was almost as loud as his mother's as he countermanded her order: 'You make a cup of tea, Jinnie, and now; and a strong one; I need it.' Then he walked towards the bed, holding up a hand to stop the tirade he knew was coming, and said, 'Now listen to me, Ma. He's gone. I doubt if he'll ever come back.
For my part I hope he doesn't. Yes, I know he's taken what would have got us through the winter and a bit to put by--' He paused, and bending towards her, he said, 'Now let me have that bag from under your tick and we can do some counting.'
'No! Leave it to me; I'll dish it out.'
'Oh no, you won't,' and suddenly he tipped up the edge of the mattress and dragged out the chamois leather bag causing his mother to fall flat back on to her pillows.
'I struggled all me life for that,' she moaned. 'It was to put me away decent. I've always wanted to go decent.
And the rest was for you.'
The? Well, let's first see how much there is, Ma,' and he added slowly, 'Don't worry; I'll see you go decent, money or not.'
With his forearm he slid the crockery and oddments on the table towards the lamp, and after he had emptied the contents of the bag on to the table, his mother leant from the bed to peer at the not so small glittering pile of sovereigns, all the while shaking her head at the prospect of seeing her scrounged and scraped life savings about to be disposed of.
Bruce began to count.
Altogether there were fifty-four sovereigns, twelve half-sovereigns, four crowns, sixteen half-crowns, and seven pennies. He stood back and let out a long slow breath before he said, 'Seventy pounds, seven pence.
My! My! With what has already gone my impression was, Ma, that there should have been around the thirty left. Well now, as far as I can see, we needn't worry.'
She was sitting back on the bed, her head on her chest, but when he said, 'I think five pounds would see you nicely away, Ma, wouldn't it?' her head sprang back and she said, 'You'll not leave me with just five pounds. Oh no; you'll not do that.'
'All right then, we'll double it.'
'It's my money; it's what I've scraped and worked for and . . .'
'Ma, you've never in your life worked for a penny of that money. If everybody had their rights you know who would have that money at this minute? Hal, for since he first went into that mine as a lad you saw to it that he tipped the lot up. In fact, you made your yearly journey on the Day Of The Pays to see that he wasn't dragged down into the town and into the bars, and spend what you considered to be yours. Then there was the head of the house; he used to work at one time, remember?'
'He's never worked for years.' Her voice was like a bark now.
'No, but when he did he, too, tipped his money up.
You saw to that, Ma. As for me, I have never had wages to tip up. But I was being fed. You once said to me that you had paid for me in suffering. I didn't understand it at the time, I do now, though only up to a point, for there was very little suffering on your part. I was the one who did the suffering, and that at the hands of your husband, Mr Pug Shaleman.' The last few words had been ground through his clenched teeth; and now, his whole body shaking, he pulled a chair towards him and sat down.
His doubled fists on the table, he said, 'It seems to be a night for plain speaking, so let's have it, Ma.'
His mother was sitting bolt upright on the bed now, pointing past him and yelling, 'Get out of here, girl! Get out!'
Quickly, he turned and checked Jinnie's departure,
'Stay where you are, Jinnie. Stay where you are. Everyone except me seems to have known for a long time who I really am, so we'll get on with it, Ma. From what I understand, Jinnie, my father was a man of some culture.
He must have been to write poems, for he made his living at it, a penny a rhyme, tuppence a song, which he both wrote and sang. He could also draw and paint.'
Jinnie said not a word, just stared at him, and he turned back to his mother and said, 'I've been sick of that being thrown at me in different ways over the years.
At first I couldn't understand it, I couldn't understand it at all; until one day I began to sort myself out, when I realised I had nothing in me of Pug Shaleman and very little of Hal; and it's many a year now since I thanked God that you had your fling with the travelling poet. To my mind it's the one good thing you've done in your life, because for as far back as I can remember, most of the time you've lain on top of the bed or under the sheets.'
Rose Shaleman looked at her son. If she had loved anybody in her life she had loved him. She remembered the day he was conceived. It was very hot; the sweat had been running down her breasts and she had opened her blouse to give her skin air. She was attending to the fire when the Penny Poet appeared in the doorway.
She knew her face was red and her hair was straggling about her. It was the third time he had called in on his yearly round, and, she recalled she had been about to speak about the weather when he said, 'Don't move; stand just like that, your hand to your hair, like that, yes.' And then he had whipped a coloured crayon and a large pad from a side pocket and had made a drawing of her. It had taken only minutes; and when he handed it to her saying, 'It doesn't do you justice, but I've caught something,' she couldn't believe she was as bonny as the drawing showed. He had said her eyes were lovely but lonely. Over the years she had kept the sketch hidden here and there. It was lying under the newspaper that lined the bottom drawer of the chest, only she could hardly make out her face on it now.
On one of his visits she saw him looking at Hal as he ran in and out of the cottage. She had said to him,
'Do you paint children?' and he had shaken his head, telling her that children were most difficult to paint; only real painters could paint children and he wasn't a real painter. She had contradicted him here and said she thought he was a lovely painter, and he had said it wasn't true, but if she called him a lovely poet he'd kiss her.
He would say odd things like that. She couldn't remember how on that day they came to be sitting close to each other as they drank their tea, or when his fingers began to trace the contours of her face, but she did recall when his lips fell on her eyelids. She had never known anything like it. She had thought often since it may not have been love but it had certainly been beautiful. It led to this very bed where she was lying now, dying of a heart problem.
When the child came she felt that Pug knew from the minute he looked at it th
at it wasn't his. Things had never been good between them because of the conditions on which he had taken her, and of the man himself, and from that time they had worsened.
She had waited for the poet's return, but he had never come. She recalled that when Bruce was about seven years old Peter Locke, being up here one day, looked at her and said, 'He reminds me of somebody; the cut of his chin and his fair hair.' Then he added, 'We never get that songster round these days, do we? Likely he's gone back to Ireland. His name was Bruce, too. I've never known a man attract the women as much as he did. In the town they would be round him like flies.
It was open doors for him. Oh yes, open doors for him; but he never bothered. It was thought he wasn't made that way; but you never know, you never know, do you, Missis Rose?' he had said.
She had never liked Peter Locke. He was nosy; he knew too much about everybody and everything.
Nothing seemed to escape him. And yet it couldn't really escape the eye of anybody who had seen the poet painter that her child was the image of him.
Therefore, she loved Bruce, that is, right up till lately she had loved him, because he had loved her. Oh, she knew he loved her; and he had looked after her, that is until that girl came on the scene.
Oh, that girl! She had an influence on him. And yet she herself had liked her when she first came; and there was no doubt about what he'd said that she'd made a difference in the house. But then the house wasn't the point; it was the difference she had made in him. Just look what he was doing about the money. She couldn't believe it.
He startled her by saying, 'We'll have to buy a new horse and cart, that'll be twenty pounds, at least.'
'But Peter said he only got eight for the old ones.'
'Yes, Ma; he only got eight for both the cart and the horse, and he was giving it away because together they were worth twice as much as that. Anyway, we'll say twenty; and then ten to put by for you. That leaves forty odd. Now, if we're careful, thirty would get us through the winter, and the remainder... well, I may have to pay out for a little help now and again until I get right back on me feet, because if it gets around that I'm not able to tend far and wide up there, others will help me, as they did Jim Beckett. Those Scots are still long-rangers, and they've got cats' eyes, so they can travel at night. If you remember, Beckett lost fifteen at one go.'
The Tinker's Girl Page 17
