Now who, may I ask, is that?'
It was the Captain who now put in quickly, 'Mr Shaleman here,' indicating Bruce, 'is the heir to these articles. They were left by his brother.'
'Oh. His brother? Was his brother a sailor?'
'Yes. Yes, he was a sailor.'
'Well, well! That speaks for itself. And you want me to look them over?'
'Yes, of course, man. And not so much palaver.' Mr Claire's voice was terse.
Mr Stoneford now took from his pocket a jeweller's glass; and the first piece he took up was a ring.
There was silence in the room as they watched him examine one piece after another. Even Mr Fowler's eyes were on him as they waited for his verdict, and when it came there was a concerted gasp as, looking at Bruce, he exclaimed his opinion in one word: 'Fakes.'
At first Bruce didn't take this in; well, not as quickly as both Mr Claire and Mr Fowler; and it was Mr Fowler who said, 'Never! Never! Stoneford. They're set in gold.
Don't tell me otherwise; I know gold.'
Now Mr Stoneford's whole manner changed, and his voice had an angry note to it as he barked at Mr Fowler, 'I am telling you, and I'm not charging for telling you, either. Take them to someone else: Gibson or Rowe. They'll give you a fair answer. But if they say the same as me, then I think it would be only fair of you to bring the deal back to me. Of course, you could ask them what they would offer. I wouldn't mind that. They'll likely offer you only the price of the gold settings, which really are beautiful in themselves.
But I think they might still command a good price as they are, because the glass has been expertly cut. I'd like to bet that whoever owned them thought they were genuine enough. But at some time or other the stones have been replaced: glass, however well cut, would not originally have been put into settings like these.'
He now thrust the bangle towards Mr Fowler, saying,
'You think you know a bit about jewellery, don't you?
You always have done. But what you recognised in this lot was the old settings.'
The man's voice changed as, turning to Bruce, he said almost sadly, 'I'm sorry. I wish it could have been otherwise. But at the end of the day you still won't be out of pocket.'
'Well, what you never had, sir, you never miss,' Bruce said.
The man smiled back at him and said, 'Well, that's the way to look at it. Whatever you get for the pieces will depend on whether or not you are short of cash at the moment. Imitations sold in a group like this could fetch . . . well, a hundred and twenty-five to a hundred and thirty pounds.'
'Oh my God!' burst out Mr Fowler.
'You choking, Mister Fowler?'
'Yes, I'm choking, Stoneford. You giving a lie to your profession ... a hundred and twenty-five to a hundred and thirty pounds indeed! I suggest that, having given us your evaluation, you leave the matter in abeyance for a time, and we will come back to you.' He now addressed his partner: 'Yes?' and, as if he were but a junior clerk, Mr Claire repeated, 'Yes, Mr Fowler . . . Yes.'
Mr Stoneford's anger was concealed by a tight smile and the thin tone of his voice as, looking from one to the other of the partners, he said, 'I am quite used to your courteous manner in our dealings, and also matters being left in abeyance, only for you to call in the old firm again, and so I shall await your pleasure, gentlemen.'
And he now turned towards Bruce and, the smile still on his face, he said, 'Goodbye for the present ... I almost said "sailor", but that was your brother, wasn't it? I am sure we shall be meeting again shortly,' and on this and ignoring both the Captain and his First Officer, he walked smartly from the room, leaving an uneasy silence, which was eventually broken by the Captain who, replacing his cap and straightening his jacket, said in a brisk tone, 'Well, I think our part in this business is over, don't you, Mr Claire?'
After clearing his throat, the solicitor said, 'Ah, yes.
And I thank you. I am sure Mr Shaleman is very obliged too.'
'I am indeed. I am indeed,' Bruce put in hastily, and he held out his hand to one after the other of the men, and with no further ado they left the room.
For a moment, Bruce stood staring at the door; then quickly turning to Mr Claire, he said,' Could I have fifty pounds, please?'
'Fifty!' exclaimed Mr Claire, and he too glanced towards the door before adding, 'You wish to compensate them with fifty?'
Before Bruce could answer, Mr Fowler, head up now, said, 'Yes, fifty, Mr Claire. I think they've earned it. Mr Shaleman, I would say, is lucky that his brother was on that particular boat, and not on some that we know.'
Bruce almost grabbed the wash-leather bag Mr Claire had taken from the bottom of the box saying, 'You'll find fifty in there,' and without even thanking the solicitors, was out of the door and into the street, just in time to see the two nautical figures disappearing around the corner.
After sprinting down the street and calling the Captain's name, he brought them to a halt. Pushing the bag into the Captain's hand, he gasped, 'Fifty pounds there!
Share it, please.'
Both the Captain and his First Officer, smiling now, said in unison, 'That is indeed kind of you.'
'No; it isn't, not at all. I'm no fool, because I realise that in another ship and under similar conditions, I would never have seen a penny of this money.' '
It was the First Officer who answered, 'Well, I must admit, you're right there: if the Captain had not been a God-fearing man, it would have been split long before now.'
Again they were shaking hands . . .
Back in the solicitor's office, Bruce found Mr Claire dressed for the street. The solicitor said briskly, 'Well, let us go to the bank, Mr Shaleman, with the money.
The trinkets will remain in safe keeping here, if you are agreeable.'
'Yes; yes, Mr Claire. I leave things entirely in your hands.'
The lamp was lit, the fire at the far end of the room burned brightly. Bruce was sitting in the armchair to one side of it and Max and Jinnie on the couch at the other.
Since arriving home, he had talked more than ever he had done at any one time before. He had related to them everything he had experienced and, as in a story, he had kept news of the contents of the box to the last, when their amazement was no less than his.
Max was the first to react. Standing now, he said,
'Money good for you, Bruce, but best thing him dead.'
And he put his hand out to Jinnie, and she endorsed his words by saying, 'Oh yes; yes, by far; although--'
she looked hard at Bruce - 'I'm glad for you; yes, I am.'
Max's head was bobbing now in an effort to bring out something important, and what he eventually said was, 'He would have been m-m-mad when he found out he had risked his life for fakes, and he must have risked his life time and again to g-g-gather up all that money. No wonder he was p-p-poisoned. But thanks be to G-G-God he was.'
Again, in his mind, Bruce heartily agreed with this statement; then aloud, he said, 'And now for tomorrow: we're all going into the city and have a day out; all kinds of a day.' He looked from Max's smiling face to Jinnie's straight countenance as she said, 'No, thanks, Bruce, if you don't mind; I won't go. You two go on your own.'
'We're not going on our own.'
'Well, under the circumstances I can't come with you, Bruce.' She rose to her feet, and her voice rose too as she said, 'The situation has changed, hasn't it? I'll be leaving here shortly.'
'No, you won't!' Bruce too was on his feet. 'You're not going to leave here: we can't do without you. Forget all I said; I was mad. She can't go, can she, Max?'
'No. N-n-no, she not leave. You not go, Jinnie,' saying which, he pulled her down on to die couch again beside him; then holding her close for a moment, he said,
'Bygones be bygones. We be happy here, at least a little longer. Time'll tell . . . what'll happen.'
Abruptly she stood up and, nodding from one to the other saying, 'Good night,' she went hurriedly from the room, only to be followed immediately by Max.
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br /> She was washing her hands at the sink when he went up to her, saying, 'You leave, Jinnie, I not go with you.
I stay with Bruce. He's a lost man. Lonely, deep-inside lonely. You and me in another place have company; he has no-one; and he's a good man, better than most.'
He now wagged a finger in her face as he said, 'If he hadn't. .. been good man you would have been touched before now. You understand me?'
Yes, she understood him and all he was saying. 'Leave it for a day or so, Max, please,' she now whispered.
'Seeing that you know so much, you might as well know that it isn't only Bruce I'm trying to avoid; I must get away from . . .' Before she could go on Max's head was bobbing again as he said, 'That one will be no good for you ever . . . ever. If he weren't to be married, he would not marry you.'
Her face stretched and she wanted to bark at him, 'He would! I'm sure he would. Oh yes, I'm sure he would,'
but all she could say was, 'Leave it, please. Leave it,'
and she pushed him gently away, and stood, her back to him, her hands in the sink, until he had gone; then she continued to wash her hands, in her mind repeating die words, 'Oh, he would. Yes, he would.'
The next morning, Jinnie's excuse for not going into Newcastle would have sounded plausible to anyone; and so it did to Bruce: she hadn't any proper clothes in which to visit a city: her boots were cobbled, and just look at her coat and her hat. And they both examined the coat that she was holding out to them, then down at her feet, and it was Max who said, 'Right. She's right;'
and Bruce, after a long moment of staring at her, said quietly, 'I just wanted you to share all I have with both of you; but as you say, you're right. I can tell you now, though,' and his voice rose, 'today is the last time you'll wear that coat, or those boots, because I'll bring back a rig-out for you. Oh, I can guess your size. I should be able to--' there was a pause before he ended, 'I've looked at you long enough.' Then abruptly he turned and went out, leaving Max to ask her softly, 'You'll be all right?'
'Oh yes, Max, yes. And there's nothing really left to do. I'll take a chair and sit outside. That'll be a change.'
'Yes, yes; or go down to the pool and paddle your feet.'
'Yes. Yes, I could do that. That's a good suggestion.
Now get yourself away and' - Jinnie's voice dropped 'enjoy yourself, and,' she added in a softer tone still, 'see that Bruce does too. I'm sorry for all that's happened.'
Then Max was bending down to her: 'You'll not think of leaving any more?' he asked her anxiously.
'No; perhaps not. Perhaps not.'
'Oh, good, good. Then we are back where we wwere, eh?'
'Nearly.'
'His voice sober now, he repeated, 'Nearly;' then he too left her.
Picking up her coat from the back of a chair, Jinnie went into the scullery and hung it on the back of the door; then she returned to the kitchen to stand by the table and ask herself what she should do. It was nine o'clock in the morning. She had been up since six; she had done the necessary chores. She had finished the washing yesterday, and because of the heat the clothes had dried almost as soon as she hung them out. There was a little ironing to be done, shirts and such but she told herself she would leave that till the cool of the evening, because already the day was promising to be as hot as it had been yesterday. She could wash her hair. Yes that was an idea. She put her hands up to the coil on the back of her head where the shorter plait was twisted into the larger one. She would walk down to the pool and do it there. In spite of the heat there should still be enough water running.
She sighed now as she thought how wonderful it would be if she could wash herself all over; but that being out of the question she would give herself a wash down in the cold water from the pump.
The bathing over, she put on a clean shift and only one cotton petticoat; and then she donned her thin print dress that had been washed and ironed so many times the pattern had almost disappeared . . .
She stood in the open doorway, gazing over the open land already shimmering in the heat, and she realized that it was the first time she had been left alone since she arrived here. It was a strange feeling. She missed them.
Oh yes, she missed them both, and this prompted her to ask herself what she was really going to do about leaving, only to scorn herself for being a hypocrite: she had known from the first that if she were to leave and go into service elsewhere, she would likely never see Richard again, and that thought was unbearable.
She wished he had got married when it was originally planned; but the last she had heard was that he was going to Paris with his sister.
At times she wondered if he knew how she felt about him, for surely the deep pain in her own heart would be expressed in her eyes, although she always managed to smile and be bright when they met. Oh! She flung herself about. Why was she standing here . . .?
She was disappointed to find that the water in the pool had sunk much lower than she had thought, but it was still deep enough to rinse her hair in it.
First, she took off her boots and stockings and, sitting on the bank, she dangled her feet in the water, experiencing the delight of the cold water running through her toes.
Leaning back on her hands, she gazed about her. It was a wonderful day. She only wished she could feel happy, really happy.
After a while, she pulled up her feet out of the water and set about washing her hair. Lying on the bank, as she always did, she leaned over and swished her hair back and forward in the water.
Perhaps it was because the towel was over her ears, as was her hair, that she didn't hear the footsteps, but when the voice said, 'Don't move,' her body actually bounced on the grass, then her hands became still on her head, the towel dangling over her face.
'Just stay like that.' The voice now was coming from the side; then it was right in front of her and saying, 'Lift the towel from your face, Jinnie, but keep your hands there.'
Slowly, she did as the voice requested; and then she was staring directly at him.
He had a notebook in his hand and he was drawing swiftly in it. She remained still, feasting her eyes upon him. He was so good to look at. So clean-looking, and she could pick up the smell of him from this distance.
Her heart began to ache again. She watched him turn a page of the notebook, then listened to him say, 'Drop your head slightly to the left side, my dear.'
Did he know he had called her 'my dear'?
She was perched in an uncomfortable position with half her wet hair dangling down the side of her face and her body was stiffening, so that she felt she was going to topple, and so she did, exclaiming, ' Oh, I'm sorry; I was getting the cramp in my side.'
'It's all right. It's all right.' And he did a few more strokes before closing the notebook and putting it in his pocket.
'I'm sorry if I disturbed you,' he said, 'but I went up to the farm. There was no-one there. I stabled the horse and I thought there was just the chance you might
be here. Oh, please! don't get up. Don't get up, I'll sit down.'
As he sat down on the grass beside her, she made a frantic effort to plait her wet hair, and he remarked on this, saying, 'It's still wet. Why don't you dry it?'
Then turning to the side, he picked up the dry towel from the ground, saying, 'Here's a dry one. Look; let me do it.'
When he knelt behind her and she could feel his hands gathering up her hair, she felt faint, but the common-sense voice from deep within her said, Take a hold of yourself. It is nothing just drying your hair,
'tis nothing. But it was something: Mister Richard was drying her hair; and it could only happen in this isolated place. Would he have done it if either Bruce of Max were here? No; no, of course he wouldn't. Nor would they.
She remained silent; and after a while when he said,
'How's that?' she put her hand round the back and felt her hair, saying, 'I'll . . . I'll plait it now.'
'No; no, leave it loose; the sun will dry it. It's still damp.'
He was now sitting by her side and he asked, 'Why are you down here by yourself? Where are the others?'
'They've gone into Newcastle.'
'Newcastle? Bruce and Max together?'
'Yes; Bruce and Max together.' And she had enough spirit to say, 'Is there anything very strange about that?'
'Yes; yes, there is. I've never known them both be away from the farm at the same time.'
'Well, apparently things have changed. You won't know about it yet, but Bruce will tell you. Hal - you know . . . the brother - he died at sea and' - she paused; should she tell him about the money that had been put into the bank? No, no. Instead she said, 'Apparently he had some wages coming and they told Bruce to collect them, and now he's gone in to spend them.' She smiled as she added,' Something new for Bruce, for he never has anything over to spend on himself or on anyone else.'
'No. No, I know that. And he won't take presents.
But oh, I'm so glad he's had a windfall. I bet he'll bring something back for you.' He was smiling broadly at her, his face not a foot away.
She managed to smile back at him and say, 'I shouldn't be a bit surprised; he's very kind, is Bruce.'
'Yes; yes, he's very kind.' He turned from her now and, drawing his knees up, he put his arms about them and joined his hands together.
She looked at the hands: they were long and slender and beautifully shaped. His trouser legs were hitched up, showing his socks above the tops of his highly polished brown boots. The tops of his socks, which appeared to be made of silk, fell into folds.
She was startled when he said, 'Are you looking at my big feet and comparing them with your dainty ones?'
For a moment she wanted to draw her feet up under her dress: dainty feet that had known only the roughest of stockings, clogs and old boots during their existence.
Suddenly he was by her side, his knees touching hers as he said, 'Have you been paddling?'
'Yes. Well, dangling my feet in.'
'Then that's what I'll do too, we'll dangle our feet together,' and before she could protest, he had unloosened the laces, pulled off his boots and then his socks and exposed his very white feet. Then taking her hand, he made as though to pull her to her feet, but when she resisted he said, 'Why not? Look; no-one can see us down here; we are as secret as if we were in fairyland among the pixies. Come on; a chance like this doesn't happen every day.'
The Tinker's Girl Page 28
