The Whip (The Spaniard's Gift)

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Help me to lift him!’ The shout from the younger boy brought life back into her and it jerked her forward.

  Without hesitation she put her arms under the shoulders of the prostrate figure and helped to pull him clear of the outcrop of rock and onto the flat muddy ground of the field. When he was straightened out she stood with her back bent looking down on the still form, watching the younger boy shaking his brother gently while pleading, ‘John! John! Come on, wake up.’

  When there was no answering movement to his plea he turned and, staring up at Emma, said, ‘You…you see what you’ve done! You’ve killed him. Go and get help. Go to the farm and get help!’

  Again the boy’s command seemed to bring life back into her and she was already racing over the field. The mud, clogging her boots, impeded her, and once she fell forward onto her hands but was up again in a second. And she didn’t take the back way which would lead her first to the cottage, she made straight for the farmyard yelling, ‘Mister! Barney! Pete!’

  She hadn’t called Luke’s name, but it was he who appeared in the yard first, and she came to a running stop a few yards from him and cried, ‘One of the young masters is hurt, they want help. Fell off his horse, near the crop stones in bottom field.’

  Jake Yorkless was by now looking down on them from the hayloft and he shouted, ‘What is it? What’s the nuration?’ And Luke answered him, ‘Young master, he’s had an accident. In bottom field.’

  Jake now turned to Emma, demanding, ‘What kind of an accident?’

  ‘He…he’s hit his head; he hasn’t come round.’

  ‘Better take the old gate.’ Luke was calling to his father as he ran towards the barn, and Jake Yorkless, who had come down into the yard, shouted after him, ‘Give Barney a call. He’s mending west fence, he’ll hear you through top loft.’

  ‘What is it? What’s the nuration about?’ Dilly Yorkless was in the yard now, with Lizzie behind her, and the farmer, thumbing in Emma’s direction, said, ‘She says young master’s been hurt: fell off his horse; lying in the outcrop.’

  ‘Fell off his horse?’ Dilly Yorkless looked at Emma, then said, ‘How did that happen?’

  Emma remained mute: they would know soon enough and then the heavens would open above her.

  ‘Well, answer me, girl. Were you there or weren’t you?’

  ‘I…I was there.’ But she was saved from going on further by Luke appearing in the yard with the gate, for his father, taking hold of the other side, said, ‘Well, let’s get going. And you’—he was nodding towards his wife now—‘you’d better come along. Bring a towel and things in case they’re needed.’

  Without further ado his wife turned and hurried back into the kitchen; then reappeared within seconds it seemed, her coat on, a shawl over her head, and a bundle of towels under her arm.

  ‘Will I come an’ all?’ It was Lizzie asking the question, and Dilly Yorkless answered abruptly, ‘Can’t see the need, and there’s plenty to do inside. As for you!’ She nodded at Emma. ‘Get about the day’s business; you’ve wasted enough time as it is.’

  The yard empty, Lizzie looked at Emma, saying now, ‘You’re as white as a sheet, girl. What happened?’

  Before she could answer, Barney came running into the yard calling to Lizzie, ‘Something wrong? What’s our Luke yelling about?’

  ‘There’s been an accident to the young master of the House, so I understand. He’s down in the bottom field among the outcrop. They want you down there.’

  ‘Oh. Bad?’

  ‘I know nothin’ about it. Emma here has just brought the news.’

  ‘Is he bad, Emma?’

  Her mouth opened to say, ‘I don’t know,’ but there was a great heave in her stomach and she turned from him and ran towards the cowshed wall and, leaning her head against it, vomited.

  Barney made to go towards her, but Lizzie stopped him, saying, ‘I’ll see to her; you’d better get along with the rest, they need four hands on a gate.’

  ‘What is it?’ Lizzie was speaking quietly now as she bent over Emma, and Emma, lifting her apron from between the folds of her coat, wiped her mouth and, looking at Lizzie, all she could say was, ‘Oh! Granny, I…I did it.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘He…he went to hit me with his crop for no reason, and I grabbed it…Look’—she held out her hand—‘it burned it, so…so I pulled it from his hand but…but—’ She put her hand over her mouth as if she were going to retch again, then finished in a rush, ‘I missed me aim, I…I lost me balance ’cos of me bad foot; I went for his leg and I hit the horse and it up-ended and threw him.’

  ‘In the name of God!’

  Lizzie groaned aloud now; then taking Emma’s arm, she said, ‘Come on into the house.’ And like that she took her through the yard and to the cottage.

  When Emma was seated shivering before the banked-down fire, Lizzie, looking at her, said slowly, ‘Trouble seems to follow you, girl, as the sparks fly upwards. What’ll be the outcome of this only God knows. You and those whips! I’ll burn ’em. I will, so help me God! I’ll burn ’em. And what if he dies? Child’—she bent right down to her—‘what have you done? And to the son of the House. My God! It’s well Fordyke doesn’t own this farm or else him and her and the rest of them and you and me together would be out on the road this very day. But you…it’s more than likely they’ll see you on the road, me girl, after this business. Nothing I could say will change their tune concerning you from now on. I can bet me last halfpenny on that. And where will you go, she won’t give you a reference for service? There’ll only be the pits, and likely you’re too big to go down there now, it’s the little ’uns they’re after. Oh God!’ She began to pace the room now, her hands to her head, and all the while Emma sat staring at the dull embers of the fire.

  Her mind was racing. She already knew what she would do if she was sent away: she would find the company and join them. But her granny’s next words shattered that hope as if it had been struck by lightning, and, as lightning sears, so was her brain seared by the words: ‘If he dies, they could hang you, girl. That, or at best send you to Botany Bay, you’re not too young for that, or put you in the House of Correction for life. Oh! God in heaven, why am I to suffer this? All my life I’ve been plagued: work and disaster, that’s all I’ve known, and a love that turned sour…’ She caught herself up on the last words; then slowly coming back up the room she stood before Emma again and quietly now she said, ‘Stay put here. One or t’other of them should be back shortly, likely her. I’ll stand the brunt of it before they get at you, and I’ll pray to God, and you do, too, that he’s still alive.’

  It seemed to Emma an eternity of painful lifetimes until at three o’clock when, going to the cottage door for the countless time, she heard the commotion in the yard and knew they were all back. She heard the missis’ voice raised high; then her granny’s voice even higher; but she couldn’t make out what they were saying, yet the substance of it she knew only too well. Standing against the stanchion, she pressed her head back and closed her eyes tight while her joined hands were gripping the front of her dress.

  Her eyes sprang wide when she heard the steps coming round the side of the house and when Barney appeared she let out a long shuddering breath.

  Quickly he came to her and, standing against the opposite stanchion, he said, ‘’Tis all right, he came round. He was concussed and his head split open at the back, but he’ll survive. ’Tis all right, ’tis all right, don’t cry. Oh, Emma, don’t cry; you’ve been through enough. What did he do to you?’

  She couldn’t speak because of the enormous lump clogging her throat, and he went on, ‘His brother said you struck out at him with a crop.’

  Spluttering and choking and her head moving up and down, she muttered, ‘It was hissen. He brought it across my face and…and I grabbed it.’ She held out her hand and showed him the weal. It had turned blue now and there were two parts where the skin was broken and the blood was oozing through. ‘I…I pull…
pulled it out of his hand and went to…to…’

  ‘’Tis all right, don’t distress yourself any more. But you’ve got to face up to it, they’ll likely send for you.’

  ‘Who?’ The question came from high in her head.

  ‘Them up at the House; they are not the kind to pass it over. But you stand up for yourself. Do you hear? Stand up for yourself…I’ve got to go now.’

  As quickly as he had come he disappeared around the side of the house, and within seconds her granny came from the other direction, and all she said was, ‘One thing, you’ve been saved from the gallows. But don’t think you’ll get off scot-free; if she never had it in for you afore, she’s got it in for you now, and somethin’ to hang on to. Anyway, go on and get about your work. Keep out of sight if you can. I’ve told her what’ll happen if she lays a hand on you, so you needn’t be afraid of that. But I don’t know which is the worse, her hand or her tongue, and that’s gona flay you if I know her. Still, don’t answer back. There’s only one thing I hope.’ Lizzie nodded to herself and finished on a private note as she said, ‘I hope God lets me live long enough to see me day with them. That’s all I pray for.’

  Five

  Three days later she was summoned to the House. The message was brought by a groom, by word of mouth. Riding into the yard, he looked down disdainfully on the farmer’s wife as he said, ‘Your girl, one Emma Crawshaw, is to be at the Hall at eleven o’clock this morning.’ And on this he turned away, having showed more arrogance than his master might have done.

  Almost joyfully, Dilly Yorkless took the message to Lizzie. Without preamble, she said, ‘She’s for it. They want her up there at eleven o’clock.’

  Lizzie rose from her knees where she had been scrubbing the short stone passage leading from the kitchen into the hall and, drying her hands, she said, ‘Aye, well, she’ll need company, and she’s having mine.’

  ‘Oh, no she’s not!’

  ‘But oh, yes she is. She’s not goin’ up there alone to be eaten alive.’

  ‘If anybody’s goin’, I’ll go with her.’

  ‘No, you won’t. You’re no kin to her, you’ve got nothing to do with her.’

  ‘I’m her mistress. That’s kin enough in the circumstances.’ Dilly Yorkless ground her teeth together as she looked at her lifelong opponent; then she ended weakly but harshly, ‘If you insist on leaving your work I’ll go and tell Jake.’

  ‘Do that. Do that.’ Lizzie picked up the bucket, went to the side door and threw the slops into the yard; then placing the empty bucket to the side of the door, she looked again at her mistress, saying, ‘Yes, do that. And tell him to come and try and stop me. Do that, Dilly.’ And on this she went out and walked steadily across the yard. But once clear of it, she scampered towards the chicken runs where she knew Emma would be at this time of the morning, and opening the door she knew a moment’s sadness as she saw the thin figure of her granddaughter scraping the hen droppings from the top of the egg boxes over which ran the roosting barks.

  Emma was using the scraper so hard that she hadn’t heard the door open and not until her granny’s voice said, ‘Emma, you’re wanted,’ did she turn and go towards her.

  ‘You’ve been called to the House. You’ve got to be there for eleven. It’s ten now; get inside and give yourself a good wash and put on your good frock.’ She was walking by the child’s side now and she added, ‘Don’t worry, I’m comin’ along of you.’

  ‘You are, Granny?’

  ‘Aye, I am.’

  ‘Oh, ta. I…I’d be terrified on me own.’

  ‘You’ll be terrified in any case. I don’t suppose they’ll let me into the House. Still, we’ll wait and see…’

  Fifteen minutes later they left the farm. They did not take the short cut along the bridle path but went by the coach road, and it was five minutes to eleven when the lodgekeeper let them through the iron gates and they walked up the drive, and for the first time they saw the frontage of Head Hall. From a rise above the coach road only the chimneys could be espied standing out above the surrounding trees, but from here the House was a monument of imposing stone, with a pillared front and turrets at one end.

  Knowing better than to approach the House from the front, Lizzie drew them to a stop for a moment. To the left of her she saw a path skirting a high hedge, the top of which had been cut into the shape of birds, and she drew Emma along it. As she had surmised it led to the side of the courtyard.

  Emma’s life was mostly spent in the farmyard and its surrounding buildings, and so she gazed in amazement at this space which was four times the size of the farmyard, with a whole row of horse-boxes flanking one side, most of them showing horses, their heads bobbing over the half-doors. But her amazement at the side of the yard was nothing to that as they entered the kitchen. Her granny had knocked on the door and it had been opened by a girl of Emma’s own size but dressed, oh so differently, for she was wearing a light blue print dress, over which was a stiff white bibbed apron, and over that a waist apron of dark blue material. She had a cap on her head that had a goffered front, and under it her face was round and red-cheeked. She smiled at them but it did nothing to reassure Emma, for here she was standing in this wonderland of a room, and she could count five people. They were all working, yet at the same time they were all looking at her.

  A cook spoke to them. She was of medium height, round in the body, and her tone was not unkindly as she said, ‘You can sit down there.’ She pointed to a settle set back in the fireplace alcove. Some form of meat was being grilled above the large open fire. Then turning to a young girl, she said, ‘You Lily, go and tell Mrs Atkins they’re here.’

  The cook now came and stood in front of Lizzie, saying, ‘I can’t offer you a sup of anything ’cos you could be called any minute.’

  At any other time Emma would have loved a sup of anything, but now she was feeling sick and trembling inside. Yet she was taking in all the things in this enormous kitchen, the beautiful things: the shining pans, the great steel and brass fender, the huge black oak dresser that stretched into the far dimness of the room and which was weighed down with china, all beautiful coloured china. And then there was the ceiling of the kitchen. This end of it seemed to be covered with bunches of herbs hanging from hooks, while further along were other shapes which she couldn’t quite make out. The floor was stone, she saw, like the farm kitchen, but this was clean as a new pin. And then she saw why, all of them in the room were wearing slippers.

  Of a sudden she was on her feet, and her granny too, for there, coming towards them, was a black-dressed figure of a lady. Well, she looked a lady.

  After looking at Emma for a long moment, she spoke to Lizzie, saying, ‘I’m Mrs Atkins, the housekeeper. The master is ready for her.’

  ‘Can’t I come an’ all?’

  ‘No.’

  The thin trimly dressed woman turned to Emma and said, ‘Come.’ And Emma, glancing at her granny, hesitated. But then both the housekeeper and her granny spoke together, the housekeeper saying again, ‘Come,’ and her granny muttering, ‘Go on.’

  She followed the housekeeper up the kitchen, through a green-baized door into what looked like a small hall with a lot of doors going off, and from one a young boy in a dark green suit poked his head out and stared at her. Then they were going through another door, and she was in a big hallway in which two uniformed men were standing and to her eyes they looked gaudy, like the men at the fair dressed sometimes. The housekeeper spoke to the taller one, her voice in a low mutter, and he, bringing his gaze to bear on Emma, let it rest there for a while before lifting his hand and crooking his little finger, which seemed to press his head back and bring his chin out.

  Now she was walking just slightly behind the imposing figure and having to suit her step to his. They mounted a staircase that curved round and which was so thickly carpeted that she could feel the softness through the soles of her heavy boots. And at the head of the stairs it was as if the butler had been thinking about he
r boots for, pausing, he brought his dignified gaze round and onto her bonnet for a moment before it lowered itself, seemingly against its better judgement, to her feet. And there it rested for some seconds before it caused him to take a sharp intake of breath. Then again they were moving on down a corridor that had windows on one side and marble heads of men on stands set between them; through another door, along another corridor, and then they stopped.

  As she watched the gingery-brown-clad arm lift and knock twice on the door Emma felt her knees were about to give way and her mind gabbled a prayer: at that moment, the worry that was churning her stomach wasn’t so much concerned with what was about to happen to her, but that she wouldn’t be sick on these lovely carpets.

  The butler had opened the door and now was standing aside with his hand on the knob, motioning her inside.

  Ten seconds could have been counted before she crossed the threshold and when she heard the door close behind her she jerked her head to the side, but the grandly dressed man was no longer there.

  She was staring wide-eyed at the occupants of the room: she took in first of all the younger of the two riders, then a man of medium height, youngish but inclined to be stout. These two were both standing, but sitting in a wheelchair was a man with white hair and a white moustache, and his face looked thin and his body looked thin, what she could make out of it, under the rug that was over his knees. Part of her mind wondered why he needed a rug because the room was stifling; yet in spite of this she was shivering.