The Whip (The Spaniard's Gift)

by Catherine Cookson

  He turned from her and, picking up his lantern from near the door, he went out into the night. But he did not hurry towards home. He knew he could do nothing until first light. It was no use going to the farm now, and even when he did go they could not just up and march to this house in Newcastle. He must think. But first he must get a little sleep for he was very tired.

  Life as a whole, he was finding, was tiring. People were tiring. He wished he was miles away. There came over him a longing for his childhood home again: the serenity of his father’s face, the caring love of his sister, the comfort of the timbered house sitting comfortably in the centre of the now overgrown gardens, and the softer air and the softer atmosphere of the south country. He had been here, what was it, twenty-four years? and the land was still alien to him. And the majority of the people. Yes, he had to admit the majority of the people too.

  He had imagined through his vanity that the episode outside the inn had changed their attitude towards him, made them see him in a different light, but not really. In their minds he was still someone who could be duped. Yet he was not the only one who had been duped. The innkeeper had been duped over his guest Mr Gardiner, at least he hoped he had, as others in the village had been duped by the civil, nice-spoken man.

  Oh, let him stop thinking, let him get home and lose himself in sleep for a while and forget that he was the minister of a parish, and forget that with the light he must go up to the farm and give them the news…give Emma the news. What would her reaction be? He didn’t know, he only knew in this moment that he wished he had never set eyes on Emma Molinero the child who had led him to become obsessed with Emma Yorkless the married woman, for then he would no longer be in this parish, but in some place more compatible, in a house less large and more comfortable, and with someone to see to his needs who was the antithesis of Miss Wilkinson…Oh! Miss Wilkinson. That woman was really getting on his nerves.

  It was a quarter to seven the following morning when, walking out of the drive into the road, he ran into Miss Wilkinson, and she, staring at him and with her mouth slightly agape, said, ‘My! we’re up afore our clothes are on this morning. Are you going on a call?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who’s dying?’

  ‘No-one as far as I know, Miss Wilkinson.’ Though as he said it he thought of Alf Pringle.

  ‘You haven’t had your breakfast?’

  ‘I’ve had a hot drink.’

  ‘What time am I to expect you then?’ He had passed her and she was talking to his back.

  ‘In an hour, or a little more,’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘You haven’t got a coat on and the mist is thick.’

  He walked quickly on. He had been aware for some long, long time of Miss Wilkinson’s feelings towards him and of her ultimate intention, and to this intention he always said to himself, ‘Over my corpse, and not even then.’ Yet, having said that, part of him was sorry for her. Her history was that of thousands of other women: she had looked after her parents until they died, then at quite an early age became housekeeper to his predecessor and now, well into her fifties, himself and the vicarage were all she had in life; not forgetting the Sunday school, for the power she asserted over the children was that of a frustrated mother. He knew that she was laughed at behind her back by the villagers, and that her feeling for him was a joke amongst them and had been for a long time.

  The morning was misty, but when he left the coach road and ascended the hill the sun came out and the whole world seemed bathed in a silver glow. He stood for a moment letting its peace fall upon him; but even as he did so his mind was asking what would be the outcome of this day.

  Well, it was no use standing here, he must go and set the outcome in motion.

  The first person he saw as he entered the yard was Pete, and Pete stopped in his tracks, narrowed his eyes through the thin mist that was still hanging around the farm and said, ‘That you, Parson?’

  ‘Yes, Pete.’

  ‘My!’—he used the same threadbare term that Miss Wilkinson had uttered—‘you’re up afore your clothes is on this mornin’.’

  Henry made no comment but asked briefly, ‘Where’s Emma?’

  ‘Oh, she’s back in there.’ Pete pointed and jerked his head towards the farmhouse. ‘Seein’ to Barney she was little while gone, but she’ll be makin’ the meal now I should think. Anything wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know how you’d look at it, Pete, but I…I think you had better come indoors for a moment, I have something to tell you. Where is your father?’

  ‘In the byre.’

  ‘Would you care to fetch him too?’

  Pete said nothing, but his head moved slightly to the side as if in an enquiry; then he turned and went towards the byre. Henry crossed the yard and opened the kitchen door without knocking and so startled Emma that she almost dropped a bowl of porridge she was placing on a tray, and she, asking the same question as Pete, said, ‘What is it? Something wrong?’

  ‘I have news about Annie.’

  Emma gripped the corner of the table with her hand. ‘She’s not?’

  ‘Dead? No, no. But…but I have found out where she is.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘I’m…I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Emma, but…Oh, here is Mr Yorkless.’

  Jake Yorkless came into the room followed by Pete and they both stood staring at him for a moment. Looking from one to the other, Henry said, ‘I have found out the whereabouts of Annie.’

  ‘What!’ Jake Yorkless took a step forward then added, ‘Where?’

  ‘As far as I can gather she’s in a house in Newcastle. I think it’s eight Motherwell Row or something like that. Do you know Newcastle well?’

  ‘I don’t know it at all ’cept the market.’

  Henry now looked at Pete, and he, going to the table, pulled a wooden chair from under it and sat down and nipped at his lip before he slanted his eyes up towards Henry and said, ‘I know it a bit and—’ His eyes moved away as he continued, ‘the district she’s likely to be in.’

  When he next spoke he was staring up at Emma and he said, ‘There’s Bucketwell Row. Used to be big houses, sailors’ boarding houses now supposedly, captains and such, not common lodging houses. They stand well back, bordering on fields at one side if I remember rightly. How I know about it is—’ He glanced from one to the other now with a shamefaced look on his countenance, adding, ‘Had to go and find captain once, went along of chief mate.’

  He now turned his head sharply and looked at his father who was striding up the kitchen, and he called to him, ‘Where you off to, Da?’

  ‘Where the hell do you think I’m off to?’

  ‘Don’t be so daft.’ Pete got to his feet. ‘You’ve got as much chance of getting in there as I have into the Queen’s bedchamber.’ He turned and gave a quick apologetic look towards Henry, then went on, ‘They’ve got bullies who’d smash you up as quick as look at you.’

  Jake Yorkless turned slowly about and, his voice grim now, he said, ‘Well, what do you propose to do? Just stand there?’

  ‘No, no. But give me time to think. Give us all time to think. There’s one thing certain, us two alone would be less than useless, we’ve got to have help.’

  ‘Alec Hudson, and Joe Mason, and …’

  ‘No, no, Da. You would set the village alight by asking any of them for help, an’ the flame so to speak would spread into Newcastle afore you could say water. Whoever was in on this is still in the village. Am I right? Am I right, Parson?’ Pete was looking straight at Henry now, and Henry hesitated before saying, ‘I…I would say you’re right, Pete.’

  ‘God Almighty!’ Jake Yorkless came slowly up to the table now and sat down heavily and bent his head over his joined hands. And there was quiet in the kitchen for a moment.

  Emma herself hadn’t moved, but it was she who spoke now. Looking at Pete, she said, ‘What do you think should be done, Pete?’ And he glanced at her while he nipped the end of his long nose bet
ween his thumb and the knuckle of his first finger; then, as if speaking to himself, he said ‘We can do nothin’ in the daylight, that’s for sure, and we’ll want to know where we’re goin’, that’s for sure again, and we’ll want lads with us who know the ropes of them places.’ He turned now and looked fully at Henry as he ended, ‘A man could be murdered and thrown in the river and not be missed, so to speak. It’s happened, when they get too inquisitive like, because there’s big fellows, behind some of those places. ’Tisn’t only the madams who run them. Look’—he got abruptly to his feet—‘I’ll go in and have a walk round, and I know two or three of me shipmates’ll be glad to flex their muscles in a little bit of a bust up. There’s the donkey-man, Johnny Robson: he’s doin’ watch on board time her backside’s being scraped…the boat you know.’ He nodded at Henry who said, ‘Yes, yes, I know.’ Another time he might have laughed, but this was no time for laughter, and Pete went on, ‘And Carl. He’s a square-head…Swede, the size of a house end. He lives out Denton way, married a lass out there. I know his house, I’ve been there. And then if we could get Ratty Mullin. But he’s in South Shields, down the river. He’s not the size of two pennorth of copper but he’s got hands on him like a pair of sledge-hammers. I’ve seen what he can do with them an’ all. If I could get the three of them, something might be done.’

  ‘I would come along.’

  ‘What!’

  Now Pete actually laughed; then bowing his head and wagging it from side to side, he said, ‘Oh, Parson, you don’t know what you’re sayin’.’

  Henry’s voice was stiff as he answered, ‘I know what I’m saying all right, and I’ve been known to use my hands on occasions.’

  ‘Aye, aye, you might, Parson, but I bet me life you’ve never seen anything like them on the waterfront, not the bully boys who take care of the madams. Anyway, too many can be worse than too few at times, and believe me, Parson, I know what I’m talkin’ about. Anyway’—he turned and looked at his father—‘the place’s got to be found first, if there is a Motherwell Row. Might turn out we’re on the wrong track. So the best plan I think, Da, is for me to get meself over there now and see what’s to be done. What d’you say?’

  Jake Yorkless didn’t speak for a moment, but he put his hand up and ran it through his grizzled grey hair before muttering, ‘Well, you seem to know all about it, so the quicker you get movin’ the better.’ And he now rose from the table and, passing them, went into the yard again, and Pete, his voice quiet, looked at Emma, saying, ‘I’ll change me things and have a bite afore I go. By the way, we’d better not let on to Jimmy, and certainly not Mary or else you may as well get the town-crier out.’

  She nodded back at him and watched him go up the kitchen and out into the hall before she turned and looked at Henry and asked quietly, ‘How… how did you find out?’

  He hesitated for a moment before moving to the table and standing to the side of her, when he said, ‘It wasn’t a confession, so I can tell you. But don’t tell the others, please. The man Pringle took her there.’

  ‘Pringle?’ The word was a whisper.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who’s behind him?’

  ‘He didn’t say, but it’s someone from about I should think.’

  ‘Luke?’

  ‘I would hate to think that, but I don’t know. One thing I do know, if Pringle hadn’t been near death’s door and wanted to clear his conscience we wouldn’t have heard anything, it was obvious he goes in fear of the instigator or the instigators of this business.’

  ‘Dear God.’ She lifted up the bowl of porridge now in both hands and she looked down into it as she said, ‘If…if they get her, what will she be like? Will she ever be able to live a normal life again?’ And she slowly turned her eyes towards him; but he could not answer the question, the only thing he could do was to shake his head.

  She now went to the stove and scooped the porridge back into the black cooking-pot which she then pushed into the centre of the fire, and as she stood stirring it she said, ‘Have you eaten?’

  ‘No,’ he answered; ‘but I…I don’t feel like breakfast.’

  Presently she pulled the pan onto the side of the hob again and when the surface of the porridge subsided into slow plops she turned once more from the fire, saying, ‘I meant to go down to Ralph’s this morning, but I don’t think I’ll be able to now. Would you be passing that way today?’

  ‘I’ll make it my business, in fact I’ll drop in on my way back.’

  As Henry was speaking Pete re-entered the room. He was once again in his sailor’s clothes and Henry said to him, ‘You won’t have any idea when you’ll be back, Pete?’

  ‘Well, not quite, Parson. I can round up Johnny Robson any time and he’ll get somebody to stand in for him, and Carl, he’ll be about somewhere, he likes fixing things in his house, but Ratty, well, I’m not sure where I’ll find him. He’s likely the one that’ll take me time. And then I’ve got to look round the place. S’afternoon at the earliest, Parson, I should say.’

  ‘I’ll look in around teatime. Good luck, Pete.’

  ‘Thanks, Parson.’

  ‘Goodbye, Emma.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  After the door had closed on him she looked at it for a moment before turning again to the stove. She emptied two ladlefuls of the porridge into a bowl and when she placed it before Pete he said to her, ‘You know what you’ll have to do, Emma, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said.

  ‘Well—’ He picked up the milk jug and poured milk over the porridge before saying. ‘’Tis on a year she’s been gone, and if you do get her back she won’t be the same as when she left, you’ll…you’ll have to understand…’

  ‘I know that, Pete.’

  ‘And there’s another thing that’s just come to me mind. They…they may have moved her on.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve thought of that an’ all.’

  ‘But nevertheless, we’ve got to hope she’s still there and chance gettin’ her out. But it’s going to be risky business, for it’s no use gettin’ the polis in on this. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, Pete. And Pete, I’ll be going with you.’

  He bounced in his chair and almost choked on the porridge. ‘Begod! you won’t,’ he said; ‘not if I know anything, Emma.’

  She stared at him quietly. ‘I’m going with you,’ she repeated.

  ‘And I say you’re not, Emma. You’ve got no idea…’

  Now, her voice raised, she almost yelled at him, ‘I have got an idea, my mind’s full of ideas of what’s been happening to her every day, every night since she left. Nothing I could see or hear in the future can come up to what I’ve already thought. I almost go demented at times with ideas. And so Pete, whoever you get to go along with you, I come too.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ He put his hand to his brow now, saying, ‘The lads wouldn’t stand for it, there’ll be some roughin’ up.’

  ‘Pete.’ Her voice was quiet now and he looked up at her and she said, ‘Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why I feel I should be there, for if there’s fighting she…she may be frightened and…’

  ‘Oh, Emma—’ He sighed and drew in a long breath as if begging for patience before he said, ‘If she’s been there a year, you’ve got to face it there’ll be very few happenings that she’ll be afraid of, a fight least of all I should imagine. I’m sorry…I’m sorry to have to put it like that.’

  She turned from the table and went to the sink, and she stood looking over it and into the yard before she said quietly, ‘In any case, I’m goin’ along of you. You needn’t tell your mates, I’ll just be there on the cart.’

  There followed a silence before she turned and, walking past him, said quietly, ‘Now I’ll go and break the news to Barney.’

  Five

  Dusk was deepening when Pete drove the flat farm cart down onto the bridle path and from there to the coach road. Everyone in the village knew he was home on leave from the sea and no-one would q
uestion his driving the cart at that time of night. He could be on his way to The Tuns or into Birtley for a spree; but as he turned towards Gateshead Fell the few people he passed guessed that his revelling was going to be enacted further afield, for it was known that he favoured a drink and a sing-song.

  He was half a mile out of the village when he came across the parson supposedly taking an evening stroll, and the parson took his seat beside him on the front board. It was unusual that he wasn’t wearing his clerical hat, and no white collar showed above his collarless jacket. Another half-mile along the road, Jake Yorkless and Emma appeared from behind a hedge.

  With regard to the presence of Emma and the parson, there had over the past two hours been the most heated arguments. Pete had pointed out to Henry that they might all end up in…the clink, then what would he do about it? As for Emma, her very presence might put a spanner in the whole works.

  Henry’s answer to all the talk had been that someone would be needed to stay with the horse and cart, you couldn’t just leave an animal standing unattended in the middle of a street at night. So, if nothing else, he could be in charge of it and if any questions were asked he could say he was waiting for someone, which was true.

  Emma’s answer had been brief: ‘If you don’t take me along of you, I’ll simply follow you.’

  And so it was a half an hour later that they passed over the river by the High Level Bridge and into Newcastle. Their next stop was opposite the station, where Emma saw three men emerge from the gloom into the light of the lantern swinging from the side of the cart. One had great bulk, another was of medium size, and the third had the figure of a boy with a wizened face above it.