I’ll do us a bowl of hasty he said. Then you’ll be gone.
He took a small sack of wheat flour and scooped some into a pan then added milk a fistful of oats and a pinch of salt. He set it down then made some tea.
The baby gurgled and a bubble formed on its lips.
They ate in silence: the girl in the chair and the farmer standing at the bench by the range and looking out the mullion windows into the yard where the sky had cleared. When he had finished he put his bowl on the bench then he came to the girl and picked up her bowl of hasty pudding even though she was still eating it.
She still held the spoon in her hand.
He stood in front of her just as he had in the early hours. He loomed over her and looked down with disdain. His eyes put a shiver through her. She saw for the first time that that they were as grey as the slate and the scree and the Cumbrian cairns that scratched at the sky.
I know what you are he said quietly. She looked down into her lap.
You’re a dummy.
As he said this his lips curled back into a sneer.
A dummy and a big lump of a heifer that’s good for nowt but milking.
She pressed herself straight against the back of the chair. She could smell him again. Strong and stale. It hung from him. Framed him. She couldn’t breathe.
He looked down to her chest then back up then sneered again. His mouth a slit in his face.
Thought my luck had turned when you fetched up.
He snorted.
Fat chance.
He looked into her eyes and she held her breath.
Just my luck to get a dummy. And a sow of a dummy at that.
He leaned down and she arched her back but then he straightened and pointed out to the yard.
Go he said.
Now he said.
Before I change me mind he said.
THE POACHER ARRIVED unshaven and unsteady in a long oilskin mac that gave off a strong waxy stench. Rank. His accent was thick the vowels swollen and cumbersome in his slack mouth. His eyes glassy. The Priest did not rise from his chair.
May I remind you where you are.
Father?
You are in a place of worship. Your hat. Remove it.
The Poacher lifted his cap and folded it into his pocket then ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. It stood like the hackles of a fell terrier that’s cornered a fox.
Hinckley sent us.
He’s told you of his dilemma.
The Poacher shrugged.
So you know time is of the essence said the Priest.
I don’t know nothing said the Poacher.
The Priest raised an eyebrow.
I don’t know nowt Father said the Poacher.
Your tracking and hunting skills are required immediately as is your knowledge of the fells.
Aye well. I gathered that. Tommo Hinckley said summat about payment.
You’ll be paid.
And me record.
Your record will be cleared.
How’s that like.
The Church has a lot of friends in town. I’m sure you know that. Clout. I’ll make sure of it.
What are we hunting anyway asked the Poacher.
Not what. Who.
Who?
Yes.
A person?
Yes. A girl.
We’re hunting a lass?
Yes. A young girl who has absconded with a child.
What’s absconded?
Run away.
With her bairn.
Not her child – no. Someone else’s.
Whose?
Hinckley’s.
He never even said. He’s a miserable bugger him.
He’s more miserable now said the Priest.
I didn’t know he had a bairn said the Poacher.
He might not for much longer.
Didn’t think his missus was capable.
That’s their business said the Priest.
Who’s this girl?
One of the fold.
One of your St Mary’s lot?
If you mean one of the young ladies from the orphanage then yes. One of the blighted.
What’s blighted? Like in potatoes?
Never mind.
What’s the family name? the Poacher asked.
What does it matter. She’s my responsibility.
Not much. Just making conversation.
I don’t need you for your conversational skills.
The Poacher paused. A minute passed.
Well where’s she got to he said.
That’s for us to find out said the Priest. Hinckley thinks the fells most likely. And so do I.
How will we find her?
With your knowledge said the Priest.
Knowledge. I like that. Rare’s the time anyone says I’ve got me some knowledge especially a man of the cloth like yourself.
With God’s guidance we’ll prevail.
And our Perses.
Who’s Perses?
Me hound. Named after some old God. He’ll sniff her out.
I’m aware of who Perses is. The God of Destruction.
Aye. That sounds about right.
You don’t strike me as a scholar of the classics.
I’m not a scholar of nothing but snaring and trapping Father. I’m no book learner. Bad for your eyesight and a lot more besides. No. This one was already named when I got him from a gadgie over Threlkeld way at eight week old. Rum type he was. Up from the city and fancied his chances with a farm. I gave him two year; he lasted less than one.
Then as an afterthought the Poacher said: they reckoned folk kept lifting his sheep.
How long before you can gather your dog and some provisions?
Don’t need no provisions.
We don’t know how long we’ll be gone.
She’ll have not got far. We’ll find her by tea time.
I admire your optimism.
I’m a glass half full fella me.
Strange. Because from here you smell like a glass entirely empty man.
The Poacher stiffened.
That’s as maybe. But nature’s my larder. I’ll just need a sit down for a little while first.
There’s no time for that.
I just need to check my eyelids for holes Father.
I’m assuming you’ve been drinking.
It’s a fair assumption.
How long for?
Well now. I started young so reckon it must be twenty-five year.
I mean how long this time.
Couple or three days. Don’t fully remember. Depends what day it is today.
You look a state said the Priest.
I always look like this.
I hope you’re not going to be a hindrance.
I said I’d help said the Poacher. And I will.
I don’t believe you did.
I’m saying it now.
Fine said the Priest. Then get your dog and meet me here in an hour.
An hour?
One hour.
Have I got time to –
No.
THE PRIEST HAD finished packing a bag and changed into a tweed overcoat when there was a scratching at the door.
He opened it to the Poacher and a dog straining on its lead so hard that it was standing on its two back legs with its front legs pawing at the space where the door had been. It was nearly as tall as the Priest. Flecks of foam gathered at the corners of its mouth.
You’re late.
Aye well said the Poacher. Like I said I’ve not had much kip this week.
Well you better get used to it. We’ve got a walk ahead of us.
Had to eat some duck eggs said the Poacher as he was
pulled into the vestry by the dog. He was still unshaven and had not changed his clothes.
This here’s Perses. A bull mastiff. You’ve got old English bulldog mixed in with English mastiff. Call it the Gamekeeper’s Night Dog; bred for seeing off poachers like me they are. That’s why I’ve got him. To keep one step ahead in the game like. Know your enemy and that. Not that he comes with us everywhere. Can’t be scaring the creatures off else there’d be nothing left for my pantry.
Did Hinckley give you something for the scent?
Aye he gave us these.
The Poacher pulled a clutch of rags from his pocket and rubbed them in the dog’s face.
He’s not much used to the indoors is Persey.
Then we should get going. Where is your bag?
You just worry about yourself Father. You’re looking pale if you don’t mind my saying.
I do. I do mind.
Sorry.
Don’t be sorry. Just do what you’re here to do. Help me find the girl.
WHEN THE FARM dwellings had long disappeared behind her the girl crouched down behind a wall and rested a while.
She unwrapped the baby and lifted it out from its blanket and removed the corner wedge of ham from beneath its back that she had torn from one of the cured sides hanging in the scullery and the large potato that had been by the baby’s feet. It felt heavy in her hand. She put it in her pocket along with the meat and a spoon that she had also slipped up her sleeve. The farmer’s debt.
As she held the baby in front of her it emitted a stream of urine. She tried to move out of the way but some of it caught her hand and she was surprised by how warm it felt. Hot even. It was golden. The baby was thirsty. Short on fluids. Draining remnants.
She wiped her hand off on the grass then wrapped the child back up in its blankets.
She had a sheet too. She’d taken it from the farmer’s clothes line.
He must have hung it first thing and now she was folding it and fashioning it to form a crude pouch with which to hold the child tight across her back. The first attempt failed as the baby squirmed and she couldn’t tie the knot right. She tried again by lying the bairn on the sheet on the ground and then leaning back on it to make sure it was held flat against her with its legs spread-eagled then she tied the sheet tighter this time with a front knot down by her left hip. Then she slowly stood. The baby was held firm across her back now.
The girl leaned against the dry stone wall for a moment and then started walking again. It felt much easier. The weight was more evenly spread and her broad hips and legs shared some of the burden and her hands were free. She felt less vulnerable walking across uneven ground where rocks lurked in the long grass.
The baby gurgled in her ear. It wore the same clothes she had taken it in; the clothes Hinckley’s wages had bought.
He had answered shirtless that very first day down in the town. Her memory of him would always be of that first moment: his white chest concave and not at all fleshy and rounded like hers. He had been in the middle of washing himself and had a towel rolled around his neck. She could see his ribs and the wisp of hair at the centre of his chest and around two tiny nipples. His belly button was an ugly nub. The stump of something cut and cauterized.
Sister had gasped and a hand fluttered to her mouth and then she regained herself.
Mr Hinckley.
Aye.
We’ve come from St Mary’s.
Eh?
St Mary’s.
Is it the wife you’re wanting?
It’s about the girl.
Sister had her by the elbow again. Her case at her feet.
The girl had looked at the man’s bare torso. The man looked from Sister to the girl then back again.
Eh?
She’s the help.
Hold on a minute.
He turned and went back into the house and the door gently closed itself behind him. Sister tutted and ran a finger around the rim of her tight collar.
Stop slouching she hissed even though the girl wasn’t.
Then she muttered something to herself. A piece of scripture: the turning away of the simple shall slay them and the prosperity of fools shall destroy them she said.
She was always doing that was Sister. Muttering quotes from The Book. She had ones for every occasion. The girls were encouraged to do the same. They were drilled into them. Taught by rote as most could not read.
The man returned wearing a shirt this time but still open at the chest. The girl noticed shaving soap on the lobe of one of his ears. She looked at his Adam’s apple bulbous in his taut lathered throat. Those ridiculous nipples dark and flat and tiny.
What is it you’re after?
It has been arranged for you to receive some help about the place Mr. Hinckley. From the girl. I believe your wife is sick.
She’s sick alright. Coughing up the black stuff half the night. And there’s the wean to look after an all. It might be that she mentioned it a couple or three weeks back. I can’t say it all goes in. She’s asleep now but.
Sister didn’t say anything to this.
This is the lass then he said.
Yes.
The man wiped the foam from his ear and considered the girl.
Well what’s she got to say for herself.
Nothing.
Nothing?
She’s the silent type.
Well what’s that supposed to mean?
She’s a mute said the Sister her hand still at the girl’s elbow. Never speaks a word.
The man stared at the girl until he broke her gaze and she looked away.
She’ll hear you alright though said Sister. She might act like she’s not heard you but she will have. It gets through eventually.
Well what’s wrong with her the man asked as the girl watched his scrawny throat pulse and bulge like that of a chicken on a block then she looked past him into the darkness of the terraced house. I bet I could make her talk. Here – watch.
He leaned over with his hands on his thighs.
Go on then girl – say summat. There’s a present for you if you do.
She pursed her lips and said nothing.
Go on. Just give us a word.
She looked away.
One word. Even a squeak.
She’s tapped said Sister. Bad breeding is what has done it. Bad breeding and a families’ devilish ways. You’ll not get a peep out of her. Trust me. I doubt she could form a sentence even if her mouth let her.
He shook his head.
I’ll get a word out of her. You just give me time.
Well said Sister. She’s a good little worker I’ll give her that.
She’s not that little. Bet she eats a lot.
Just enough to get by.
Hinckley sniffed.
Diseases?
None that we know about.
What about law breaking? I’ll not tolerate thieving.
No. She’s been with us since she was a wean. Brought up the Godly way. The right way.
Aye well said Hinckley.
She might not read or write but she can cook and clean and scrub like no-one. She could recite the scriptures if she had a tongue in her head. She’s had years of practice. Builds a good fire too.
If she’s so handy about the place he said why is it you’re wanting rid of her?
She’s come of age Mr Hinckley. They cannot stay forever. None of them. We need the beds. Your wife said it would be agreeable. Said she’d be a help with the young one.
Aye. Didn’t know it was today though.
He looked at the girl’s face again.
She’s helped raise some of the babies that have come through said the Sister. She’s trained in the ways. Weaning and washing feeding and fetching. All of that.
Hinckley had said no
thing.
And she’s Christianly said the Sister.
He nodded.
Aye you said. Another thing I cannot abide is noise me. Specially in the mornings. So she’s got that in her favour. Don’t know if I can feed another mouth though what with the bairn.
I understand. That is why St Mary’s is happy to provide a small stipend.
He sniffed again then gently ran his finger over his flat stomach idly rubbing it.
Is that right?
Yes though of course the greater reward comes from up above.
Aye said the man. Up above.
The reward is great in heaven.
What’s the family name?
Bulmer.
I don’t believe I know it.
You’d be best not to said Sister. Rum lot. Bad breeding if you know what I mean.
From the town?
Up top. One of the farms.
The girl felt for her dolly rag in her pocket and squeezed it.
Which one? I’ve done a bit of work up there. Walling and that.
I don’t know Mr Hinckley. She came to St Mary’s a long time ago. She is our longest standing resident.
Why?
Why?
Aye – why did she come to you? Must have been something up.
I believe there were some problems at home.
What problems.
I don’t know. Impropriety. Her people were incapable.
I bet they were. What do they call her?
Isabelle. Bell.
Isabelle Bell?
Isabelle. Bell for short.
The man touched his face again.
Well she could do with some help could Margaret what with all her coughing. No doubt about that – the amount of nappies the bairn gets through. And there’s the housework. She’d have to go in the nursery though. On the floor like.
You wouldn’t mind that said the Sister. Would you?
She squeezed the girl’s elbow. The girl flinched and pulled her arm away. Sister took it again and held it harder and tighter than ever.
She’d be grateful of any roof Mr Hinckley. A roof and food and a floor and a good day’s work. That’s all she needs. He will provide the rest.
Who will?
He will Mr Hinckley.
Oh aye. Him.
Like I said neither you or your wife should have any problems out of this one. She’s stubborn when she wants to be alright and she’s on the shelf for good but she’s not like some of the others with their cursing and their carousing and their wickedness. She’s well disciplined and if she steps out of line you be sure to let me or the Father know about it.
Beastings Page 3
