The Whip (The Spaniard's Gift)

by Catherine Cookson

  After easing her nightgown from her body in several places she suddenly twisted round on the pallet, tore off her nightgown and, grabbing up her shift from the floor, she pulled it over her head, then drew on her print dress. Quickly now she pulled on her stockings and got into her boots, and finally, stretching up, she unhooked her black cape from a nail in the rafter post. She never went out at night without her cape, even as now when she only intended to go down by the burn. The water in the burn was very low but it still trickled over the stones and even the thought of it cooled her.

  A few minutes later she was pushing herself backwards out through the hatch door and her feet were groping their way down the broken ladder and onto the rough grass.

  The wind was stronger than she imagined for it billowed her cloak into a balloon so that she had to gather the two ends and hold them tight in front of her.

  Surprisingly, the night wasn’t as jet black as she had imagined and when her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she found her way easily to the stone wall bordering the first field, then over this, across another field and so to the stile beyond which was the coach road.

  She did not cross the stile but continued along the border of two more fields. When she came to the darker blur of a group of small trees she knew she had reached the bank of the burn with Openwood beyond.

  It wasn’t until she had taken off her boots and stockings and was standing in the cool of the water that she realised she hadn’t brought her whip with her because she had been in such a scurry to get out. Well, it didn’t matter tonight, because she would be going straight back.

  When the wind lifted her hair and brought it over her eyes she almost stumbled, then giggled softly to herself. That would be it, wouldn’t it, if she fell in the water and wet her dress? How would she explain that to her granny? Then she told herself practically that even if it should get wet she could hang it up and, with the hatch left open, it would dry in the draught by the morning.

  Gingerly now, she stepped onto the bank and after sitting down she tucked her feet up and dabbed them dry with the hem of her dress; then she pulled on her stockings and laced up her boots and was on the point of rising when she became transfixed into stillness by a muffled sound coming from further along the burn. It was a strange sound, not recognisable, like footsteps yet not like footsteps. One minute she could hear it, the next minute she couldn’t. She was frozen with fear. Was it ghosties?

  When the wind swirled the sound towards her once again she knew it wasn’t ghosties, and like lightning now she scrambled up the bank. But immediately she realised she couldn’t make her way home because she would have to pass the noise. So what she did was to run into the thicket that surrounded the trees of Openwood, and there she almost did die of shock for no sooner had she crouched down than she knew she was not alone, for she was touching something, and as the lesser of the two evils seemed to be the approaching noise she had opened her mouth to scream when a hand was clapped over it, and her back was pressed against a body. She then felt a hand going over her hair. It was a gentle touch which told her immediately it belonged to no-one from the farm, not even to Barney, because there was no farm smell from whoever was holding her.

  Now she was aware that the noise was coming nearer and she distinguished it as the careful tramping of a number of feet.

  As she stared fixedly before her through the thin screen of bramble the burn bank became faintly illuminated by the dispelling clouds across the rising moon. The light wasn’t strong enough to show up individual shapes but what she saw appeared to her imagination like a long animal with weird-looking humps on its back. It wasn’t until the tail end of the animal had almost disappeared from her view that the moonlight becoming stronger showed her a man with a box on his shoulder.

  The weird procession had passed some while before she felt herself drawn from the bushes. The hand was still around her mouth and when the fingers left her face and a head bent over her and a voice said softly, ‘Emma,’ she almost did yell out, but not any more in fear, just in sheer amazement because she recognised the parson. When she went to repeat his name it came out like a grunt from her throat. Then he was bending down to her, the dark blur of his face before her as he whispered harshly, ‘What on earth are you doing out at this time of the night, child?’

  She gulped deeply before she could whisper back, ‘I was very hot, sweatin’. I came down to the burn to put me feet in.’

  She heard him sigh, then say, ‘What do you think would have happened to you if those men had seen you?’

  ‘I don’t know, I forgot me whip.’

  ‘You forgot your…? Oh, dear Emma, your whip wouldn’t have stood you in good stead tonight I’m afraid. Do you know who those men were?’

  She surprised both him and herself now when after a moment’s hesitation she said, ‘Yes, I think I do; they are smugglin’ the liquor from the ships.’

  She saw his shape stretch upwards in the dim light of the moon; then he said, ‘Well! Well! And what more do you know about these men?’

  ‘Only that those who help get a share of the bottles.’

  He now reached out to her and took her hand, saying softly, ‘Come, we’ll sit down by the burn and have a little talk, for you seem to know as much, if not more, about these gentlemen than I do. And since you’ve been the means of stopping me finding out any more tonight, perhaps you’ll tell me what more you know, eh Emma?’

  When she was seated side by side with the dark-cloaked parson the moon came fully out and she turned and looked at him. His face looked very grave and his eyes large and dark, and she said to him, ‘The moonlight’s nice on the water, isn’t it? Coolin’ like.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Emma, the moonlight’s very nice on the water. But now, as we cannot remain here for very long because I’m sure that at least some of those gentlemen will be returning this way to their ship, I’m going to ask you again to tell me what more you know about their activities.’

  She gave a long audible sigh as she set herself to think. What did she know about the liquor running? Only that everybody seemed to know about it, well everybody of her acquaintance. And she said this.

  ‘I don’t know nothin’ more than t’others, Parson; everybody seems to know about it an’ that it’s stuck in a place where the customs would never dream of lookin’.’

  ‘And where’s that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, except that it’s in…’ She stopped and, her head going back, she screwed up her eyes as she peered at the scudding clouds now passing over the moon. What was it Billy had said to her granny that time the missis had knocked her about, something about the parson standing on the place, or some such?

  His voice broke into her thoughts, saying with some urgency, ‘Yes, Emma, it’s in where?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, except Billy said to me granny about you standin’ on the place where it was, or something like that.’

  ‘You mean the stuff is hidden near the church?’

  ‘Yes, an’ there was a name they mentioned but I can’t remember it, Parson.’

  She watched the parson now put his head back and look up at the moon the while he talked to her, saying, ‘I’ve been on their trail three times of late and they mostly, I notice, pick a dry night to bring their catch in from the river, where I assume it is stored by the gentlemen who return this way because I’ve seen them coming back before. They are all very cute, Emma, very cute. I have kept watch on several nights but tonight was the only time I have been fortunate enough to watch them on their way inland. Then you, Emma’—he now glanced down at her—‘almost frightened me to death when you appeared from nowhere and trod on my feet.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Parson.’ She didn’t add that she herself had nearly died of fright.

  ‘Well, the incident has its compensations for never have I enjoyed sitting by the burn like this before. But I’m afraid we must cut short this idyll. You must now hurry back and get into bed before your granny discovers you’re missing.’
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  ‘She won’t, Parson; I hump the blankets up and she never comes through the let, just pokes her head in.’

  ‘You’re a wicked child, Emma.’ His voice denied what his words implied and she laughed gently as he went on, ‘And what would she think of me keeping you standing out here, when I should be taking you by the collar and yanking you home?’

  ‘Oh, she wouldn’t say anything to you, Parson, because she thinks you’re too good to be true.’

  Now it was the parson who made a strange sound in his throat, and after a moment he said, ‘Your granny thinks me too good to be true?’

  ‘Yes, Parson; she’s not like the rest of ’em, she has a good word for you.’

  ‘Indeed, and…and who do you mean by the rest of them?’

  ‘Well…’ She felt slightly embarrassed now and didn’t wish to go on in case she should implicate anyone in particular, but when he said, ‘Yes, Emma?’ she muttered, ‘Well, them on the farm and down in the village and about.’

  ‘And what do them…they say about me?’

  Her embarrassment grew; she felt she was telling tales, yet it wasn’t really bad what they said about him and so she told him, ‘Well…well they say you seem to know everything that’s going on in heaven, but…but you don’t see what’s goin’ on under your nose.’

  ‘Is that what they say, Emma?’

  ‘Yes, Parson.’

  ‘Well, well.’

  The moon was fully out again and she could see he was smiling as he asked now, ‘Is there anything else they say about me, Emma, that might help me to mend my ways and enlist their favour?’

  She thought a moment, then said, ‘Well the only other thing they’ve got against you is you use big words. Old Parson Crabtree, the one that was afore you, they said called a spade a spade, and he only used big words when he had the bottle, I mean when he was drunk. Although I didn’t know parsons got drunk, do they, Parson?’

  ‘Some do, Emma; but go on.’

  ‘Well, that’s all I can think of, Parson, except that Billy…Billy Proctor’s for you, because he said you might be a fool, but you’re no idiot.’

  She was now somewhat amazed at the sound that came from the parson, it was as if he were choking; and then bending down to her, his face close to hers, his eyes looking startlingly bright, he whispered, ‘You know something, Emma? I think the good Lord directed me here tonight precisely to meet you, and for you to enlighten me as to the measure my parishioners have of me. And not only that; I think He wanted to establish that we are going to be friends, firm friends. Will you be my friend, Emma?’

  She had no hesitation in saying, ‘Oh, yes, Parson. Oh, yes, I’d like to be your friend.’

  ‘Then that is settled. And as a friend you will keep me informed of the opinion my parishioners continue to have of me, whether it changes for the better or for the worse. Will you, Emma?’

  ‘Yes, Parson, but on the quiet like.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He chuckled now and repeated, ‘On the quiet like.’ Then his voice changing, he said, ‘One more thing, Emma, before we part, I want you to read all you can, use every spare moment you can to read and learn to use big words too. Any fool can call a spade a spade, Emma, even an idiot can call a spade a spade, but you have to be of certain intelligence before you can use big words coherently. Now there’s a word to set you puzzling…co…her…ent…ly. Once a month I will give you a new book to read, and once a month I will test you on the big words. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, Parson.’ Her voice sounded flat, she wasn’t very enamoured of having to learn big words. She liked reading stories but up till now she had skipped the big words.

  ‘Go now, child.’ He pushed her gently from him, then quickly caught hold of her shoulder, saying, ‘Do be careful when you come out at night, child. I would rather you promised me that you’ll never take up this escapade again, but I feel it would be too much because your blood would drive you into the open. But go now, go now, and God bless you.’

  She went without further words and puzzling over why her blood should drive her into the open. That was a funny thing to say.

  Once again, as she later said to herself, she almost jumped out of her skin when, having skirted the small barn and about to run across the open space to the cottage, she saw a movement in the yard. Through the dim and flickering moonlight she made out the tall figures of Farmer Yorkless and two of the boys, but from this distance she couldn’t tell which two. And she shivered from the top of her head to the soles of her feet as she imagined what would have happened if the master had been in that trail of men and they had caught sight of her. He would have whipped her raw; if not he, then his missis would have done so.

  Although they had now disappeared into the house she waited until the moon was hidden again by the clouds before she scurried towards the ladder and up through the hatch. And she was still shivering as she pulled off her boots and clothes and climbed under the blanket. But lying secure once more, her thoughts, now calm, traced back the happenings of the last hour, and what emerged was the highlight: the parson had asked her to be his friend. Oh, she liked the parson, she liked him better than anyone else on earth. Besides the honour of being friends with the parson, in some way it formed a barrier against hell.

  It was as she was dropping off to sleep that the word Leadbeater came into her mind. And it was still there the following morning when she awoke. And she remembered where she had heard it. Billy had been telling her granny about it being on a headstone and her mind, groping back to the conversation, knew that the name was connected with the place where the liquor was hidden.

  Now that would be something to tell the parson, wouldn’t it? But she’d have to wait till Sunday.

  It was on this day that Emma became aware of her body. The first instance took place in the grain shed. She had gone in to get some boxings to make the crowdy for the hens, and Luke happened to be there getting the horse fodder. She never spoke to Luke and he never directly spoke to her, but he talked at her whenever he was near her. This morning, however, his approach was different.

  She knew he had gone towards the door and when he shut it and came back up between the wooden bins that held the grains she straightened herself and looked at him. He was a good head taller than her and he seemed to tower over her as he said, ‘Growin’, aren’t you?’

  She made no reply, and he went on, ‘Ma says that you’re black underneath, it’s only your face that’s become tanned with the sun, bleachin’ it like. Are you black underneath?’

  ‘No, I’m not!’ Her voice was indignant.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘I don’t care if you believe me or not. Let me by, I’ve got to make the crowdy.’

  For answer his hands shot out and pulled the tin dish from her and threw it to the side so that the boxings sprayed out all over the stone floor, and as she gasped he said, ‘You can tell Ma that you tripped. She’ll skin you ’cos they’re good boxin’s, an’ she’ll stop your pay for weeks.’

  She was still gasping in her throat, as she imagined the reaction of the missis, when he said, ‘Tell you what. I’ll say it was an accident an’ I dunched you if you let me see if you’re black or not.’

  ‘Let me by.’ Her voice was trembling now.

  ‘Who’s stopping you?’

  He had moved his hand to the side but in order to get past him she’d have to squeeze her body between him and the stanchion post of one of the bins and when she made no move to do so he moved, now almost throwing himself on her, his upper body pressing her backwards over the bin. While the palm of his left hand was tight under her chin thrusting it upwards and so preventing her from screaming, his right hand was pulling up her long skirt. But as his hands groped above her ragged garters that held up her black stockings and onto her bare flesh, there came into her small body a power bred of desperation.

  She fought him with the strength of someone equal his size and age. When her back seemed to break, her hands left his hair and
her nails found the flesh of his face and tore at it, and as the pressure on her chin was suddenly released she let out a piercing scream, and it seemed that the same instant she was tumbling backwards, legs over her head, into the bin of soft boxings.

  Almost choking from the boxings in her throat, she coughed and spluttered while clawing herself up the wooden frame, and as she gripped the edge and hung over the top she saw Barney and Luke facing each other in the corner of the grain shed. And Luke was saying, ‘I was only havin’ a bit of fun with her.’

  ‘It looks like it by your face!’ cried Barney. ‘If you weren’t my brother, by God! I’d—’ She saw Barney’s head move from side to side, then he finished, ‘We’ve got on till now, but this I’m tellin’ you, our Luke, you touch her again like that and that’ll be the finish atween us. Mind, I mean it, I’ll have no more truck with you. I’ve said it afore but I mean it this time.’

  ‘She’s a troublemaker: there’s been no peace since she came. And you’ve always taken her part.’

  Luke now moved towards the door, dabbing at his face with a piece of hessian, and Barney came towards her and, putting out his hands, he helped her out of the bin, and when she was unable to stand he put his arms about her and held her to him, saying, ‘There, there, it’s all right. Don’t cry.’

  She lay against him gasping and spluttering, ‘It wasn’t me, Bar…Barney; he came at me and he spilt the boxings, and…and…’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s all right, Emma. I’ll make it right with Ma, don’t worry…’

  ‘My God! Let go of her.’

  Emma wanted to spring away from Barney’s arms but at this moment she hadn’t the strength; nor did Barney thrust her from him, but quietly pushed her against the support of the bin and turning, he faced his enraged mother, saying, ‘You can’t blame her.’

  ‘Get out of here; I’ll deal with her.’