He didn’t let her get any further. With a twisted smile he said, ‘They’ll not refuse money; mud, packs, and bundles, they’ll not refuse money.’
But there he was mistaken. As they entered the main door of the inn a man in a black waistcoat hurried across the room and, taking them in at one glance, said, ‘Round the back with you.’
Manuel remained standing perfectly still. ‘We would like a room for the night.’ He did not say rooms and the man, again looking them up and down, said, ‘I’m sorry, we’re full up. If you want a drink you can get it in the bar round the corner.’ He thumbed to the side of him. Then turning quickly to a patron leaving the room he bowed and said, ‘Good day, Sir. Good day.’
‘I have money and I would like a room for this lady.’
The man stared at Annabella. Anyone looking less like a lady would be hard for him to imagine and his eyes said this and his insolent look gave Annabella the courage to speak. Holding herself as she would have done if she had just stepped out of the carriage, she said, in a manner of which Rosina would have approved, ‘It’s perfectly all right; we’ll find accommodation elsewhere. Thank you.’ She inclined her head towards the man, whose eyes and mouth had simultaneously stretched to the utmost. Then adding, ‘Would you kindly open the door,’ she waited until the astonished porter had done her bidding, and she sailed out, Manuel following her, and they went the full length of the street before they stopped.
It was his jerky, strangled laugh that stopped them. He leant his pack against the wall and, his head falling back on to it, he let the fear and the worry flow from him in deep, spasmodic, tension-releasing laughter which brought passers-by to a standstill to stare at him, a foreigner who was evidently amused at something. Then they went on their way smiling.
Yet his laughter didn’t cause Annabella to smile because for a moment she was back in her class and feeling its power, the power it held through the speaking voice and the subservience in others that good diction could evoke.
As they walked on again he said, ‘There are other inns and they’d better mind their p’s and q’s, hadn’t they?’ He cast a slanting glance down at her, but she was looking straight ahead and she kept her gaze steadily forward as she said, ‘We must choose some place . . . ’ She paused. She didn’t want to say common or cheap, for he might imagine that she was putting a stamp on him, but he said it for her, ‘Well, I know a place. I’ve slept there meself, but it’s not for you. The beds are clean but that’s all that can be said for them.’
‘I don’t mind as long as we have shelter.’ She was looking at him now, and he returned her gaze, then jerked his chin upwards, saying, ‘Well, all right, we’ll try it.’
They had to stand aside at this point to allow a great herd of cattle to pass down the street and the sight of them caused him to say, ‘It’s market day the morrow, Tuesday; I think we’d better get round there and claim a bed or else we’ll be unlucky this time an’ all.’
They went through the Battle Hill district until they came to a quarter that could have been a miniature Temple Town, except there was no river. The houses were higgledy-piggledy, the streets narrow, little more than alleyways, and up one she followed Manuel, then through a door of a tall three-storied building, and into a dark passageway.
‘Wait here a minute.’ He put his hand back and stayed her before going forward down the passage to a door at the end. Knocking, he called, ‘Anybody there?’
Annabella saw a small man emerging wearing a leather apron, and he peered up at Manuel in the dim light, then exclaimed, ‘Aw, it’s you. Hello there. Never seen you for a time.’
‘Hello, Reuben,’ said Manuel. ‘Have you got a couple of beds going?’
‘Beds? A couple? No, lad.’ The man cast his eye down the passage towards Annabella, then said, ‘A couple did you say?’
‘Aye, I said a couple.’
‘Well, I’m sorry but you’re unlucky this time; it’s market day the morrow and the drovers are in; there’s only one bed left and it’s in the main room.’
Manuel’s head drooped forward, and the man said, ‘I would send you along to Taggart but he’s full an’ all. He sent me some of his ’un earlier on, but there’s that one left.’
Manuel looked up and stated, ‘But it’s in the main room?’
‘Aye, but it’s different. I’ve had partitions put up; it’s quite private like. Might get a bit noisy later on, but if you’re in your own place you’ll take no notice of that.’
‘Just a minute.’ Manuel went down the passage and looked at Annabella for a few moments before he said, ‘Well, you heard him?’
She stared back at him, her eyes unblinking.
‘It’s either that or under a hedge.’
Slowly her eyes lowered, and when she didn’t speak he said under his breath, ‘You’ve had enough warnin’. I told you; look, there’s still time, you could take the train back.’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘Don’t worry about the money, I can see to that; or if you’d rather, the coach.’
When she made no movement he said grimly, ‘If you’re worryin’ about anything else you needn’t; you’ll be safe enough. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.’
He thought he heard her murmur, ‘Oh, Manuel,’ as her head drooped on to her chest: then he turned from her and went towards the man again, saying, ‘Well, let’s have a look at it, Reuben . . . Can I dump this till later?’ He motioned to the pack lying against the wall of the corridor, and the man said, ‘Aye, if you’re stayin’ you can leave it in me room until the mornin’.’
Annabella followed them up two flights of stairs and at each step the smell which she was beginning to associate with humanity stung her nostrils. Then they entered a room on the second floor and she stood looking aghast at the four mattresses that took up most of the floor space, divided from each other by small wooden partitions and leaving no space on either side.
‘There, you see, it’s more private like. Good as a single room and not half the price. Shilling a bed and the blankets clean. It’s the same price for one, two or three; it’s a sort of family room.’
‘I’m . . . I’m afraid it’s a bit too cramped, Reuben.’
‘Well!’ Reuben’s tone implied total indifference. ‘It’s up to you. I was only wantin’ to oblige; it’ll be gone within the next half-hour if I know anythin’, an’ two dozen more if I had them.’
‘Thanks all . . . ’
‘We’ll take it. Thank you.’
The man stared at Annabella, his face showing as much surprise as had the porter’s in the inn.
Annabella now turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs, the men not immediately following her, and she had reached the bottom step when she heard the man’s low whisper, ‘Is she your woman? She’s a bit different from your usual, isn’t she?’ She waited, her hand gripping the rail of the greasy bannister, for Manuel’s reply. And what he said was, ‘Aye, she’s a bit different. Me taste’s gettin’ finicky as I get older.’
The man’s laugh now came to her and his whisper, ‘You always were an odd customer. You thinkin’ of gettin’ bottled the night?’
Manuel’s tone was flat and slightly ironic now as he replied, ‘No, I don’t think so, Reuben; I’ve got an idea she wouldn’t like it.’
Then the man’s laugh again and him saying, ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to be thankful for anyway; we won’t have any hellraisin’.’
Manuel and drink . . . Manuel and women . . . Manuel and hellraising. She had never thought of him in these categories. Manuel had always appeared to her as a sober, reliable, highly respectable, even superior young man; and now here she had learned that he was known to this low lodging-house keeper in connection with both women and drink, and the outcome of the latter. She felt slightly sick and needed air.
She was standing outside the door w
hen he joined her. He made no reference to her decision to sleep in the place, but said, ‘The rain’s stopped; we could have a walk round the town. Would you like that?’
Would she like walking round the town? She had walked for days, weeks, months. Her feet felt like raw pulp. What she wanted to do was to lie flat on her back, on a soft bed between clean linen sheets, cool, clean linen sheets; and, of course, she would have bathed first. ‘Walk?’ she said. ‘And to see what?’ She had seen all the places that had to be seen in Hexham. Only last year Miss Howard, and her mama, had taken a trip by train and visited the Abbey and Miss Howard, partly for her instruction but more to show off her own knowledge to her employer, had drawn their attention to the remains of the Saxon Cathedral in the exterior of the west front of the building. She also pointed out the tombstone of the Roman standard-bearer, and the fifteenth-century stalls. Her mama, she knew, had been very amused by Miss Howard because she herself could have taken the governess on a conducted tour.
The carriage had met them in the market place, for her mama had arranged to visit a Mr and Mrs Ferguson, who lived beyond Chesters and within a stone’s throw of Hadrian’s Wall. She remembered she had sat through a lengthy afternoon’s tea listening to Mr Ferguson and his plans for the benefit of Hexham. They were going to build a new Town Hall and Corn Exchange which would cost over six thousand three hundred pounds. She also learned that Mr Ferguson was a member of the Haydon Bridge Cricket Club, a member of the Haydon Hunt Club; he also enjoyed rifle shooting. Mr Ferguson did so many things outside his work of running a lead mine that she thought he was a little like her papa, he made time for all things but his business. Mrs Ferguson seemed to have as many side pursuits as her husband, yet hers were of a less personal nature. She was very interested in the workhouse and seemed to take great pleasure in relating that it housed a hundred and thirty inmates; she was working hard to start a soup kitchen for the poor; she talked a great deal about the Public Library that held over three hundred books.
To anyone not acquainted with the time, labour and money entailed in these private and public charities, Mrs Ferguson would have given the impression that she had accomplished them all single-handed.
She hadn’t liked either Mr or Mrs Ferguson and she couldn’t understand what her mama had in common with them, but altogether she had remembered that it had been a pleasant day . . . Would she ever know a pleasant day again?
The sun was shining once more and the steam was rising from the cobbles, and when the street suddenly became flooded with people she wondered for a moment if the sun had brought them out. At one point, when she was knocked into the gutter, Manuel’s hand grabbed her arm, then trailing her behind him he went on, pushing his way through a crowd of laughing, jabbering women until, finding a deep doorway, they took cover.
‘What is it?’ she asked him, bewildered.
‘It’s the factories coming out.’
Yes, of course, the factories. The glove factories, the hat factories, the tanneries. Hexham had them all.
One buxom young woman, pausing opposite the doorway and pulling her companion to a halt, laughed up at Manuel, saying, ‘What you hidin’ for, frightened of bein’ dunched?’ Then digging her companion in the ribs with her elbow, she added, ‘Isn’t he bonny now?’
Annabella looked from the girl to Manuel. His eyes were bright, there was a twisted smile on his face, and when he said, ‘Go on with you, unless you want your backside smacked,’ she knew he was enjoying this little encounter. She was discovering things about Manuel that were distasteful and annoying.
‘Like to try it on?’
‘Shut up, Em!’ Her companion was giggling loudly now, ‘Can’t ye see he’s got his lass wi’ him.’
‘Aw, so he has.’ The girl looked at Annabella as if she had just realised her presence; and Annabella stared back at her, the will strong in her to put her in her place. In case she should be tempted she drooped her head, and Manuel said again, his voice changed now, ‘Go on, get on your way,’ and the girl, throwing her head back and crying, ‘Huh! Huh! he’s feared he’ll get it in the neck,’ went on her way.
Within a few minutes the street was back to normal. They went through Priestpopple and looked at the shops, some with antique furniture, grocers with delectable food on display in the windows, butchers, pastry-cooks, milliners, haberdashery. At one point, a coach passing down the street went through a series of puddles and bespattered them both. A few yards ahead it drew to a halt and the coachman jumped down from his box and assisted a voluptuous-skirted lady on to the cobbles, and at the sight of her Annabella turned swiftly round and walked away from Manuel. She had been thinking of Mrs Ferguson only a short while previous and now she had come almost face to face with her.
She was halfway down the street when Manuel caught up with her and, continuing to walk on, he said, ‘You knew her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I doubt if she would have recognised you even if she had looked under your hood; your face is all mud.’
She put her hand up to her cheek and rubbed it, and he said, ‘Your clothes. You look no different to the girls—’ he jerked his head back, ‘the factory girls.’
It was on the point of her tongue to say, ‘Thank you!’ She said stiffly, ‘Can we leave the town . . . I mean for a little while, perhaps walk on the outskirts?’
‘All right.’
But his choice of a walk was unfortunate. Of all the places he could have chosen he had to pick Skinner’s Burn, and instead of the orchards that surrounded the town and the great stretches of gooseberry fields, here was the unpleasant sight of huge rubbish dumps lining the banks, and the smell of sewage lost nothing in the warm evening air.
‘Come on.’ He turned her about and they retraced their steps, crossed a stile and another burn and came to an open field, and there, pointing to a blasted tree, he said, ‘Come and sit down.’
When they were seated he was quiet for a moment because the position of the field and the fallen tree was almost an exact replica of the riding field back at the House, and he recalled the first morning he had taken her into the field and they had sat on such a log and he had talked to her.
He leant forward and dropping his elbows on his knees said, ‘We can’t go on like this; you can see the whole idea’s impossible.’
Yes, she knew that, none better; but what was before her? If she returned it wouldn’t be to the Hall; the only place from which she could claim any hospitality would be the house in Crane Street and the very thought of the place and the people in it, her people, the people who had bred her, overran her body with nausea. Before she would even consider that she would take to the river.
She said stiffly, ‘Where would I go except to the place in Crane Street? Would you like me to return there?’
His head drooped further towards his knees and when he remained silent she said, ‘I’m a burden to you, but it will only be for a short while. I’ll, I’ll find work of some kind . . . I’m educated . . . ’
‘Yes, that’s the trouble.’ He had swung round and was facing her. ‘You’re educated, an’ what work is that going to provide you with, except as a governess, and you know what you said about that. The work that lies before you, if you stick along of me, won’t need any brains, what it’ll need is brawn, endurance, and humility. And how could you stick knuckling under, cleaning or waiting on people?’
Instead of his words sending her into the stiff solemn silence that he expected there came a lightness to her eyes and she exclaimed with something akin to excitement, ‘You’ve just said something, Manuel. That’s what I could do, I could wait on people. I . . . I know all about setting of tables and the serving of meals. Yes,’ she nodded, ‘that’s what I could do.’
‘A-aw!’ The exclamation sounded like a groan, and he ran his fingers through his damp hair, forming it into ridges. Then getting a
bruptly to his feet, he said, ‘Let’s get back. Better get settled in and snatch a few hours afore the others come in, because it might be impossible after.’ He walked a few steps from her, then stopped and, looking back to where she was rising from the log, he asked flatly, ‘Do you know what you’ve let yourself in for the night, Miss Annabella?’
There was no deference in the title, she even sensed sarcasm, and it straightened her back and brought her chin tilting upwards as she replied, ‘No; but I shall know by morning, shan’t I?’
They stood staring at each other, he looking into the mud-smeared beauty of her face, all the while telling himself that she was little more than a child, she into the deep brown eyes of the man to whom she had once offered her childish friendship, and of whom she was now becoming a little afraid.
The room was already occupied when they reached it. They heard one of the occupants long before they opened the door and when they entered the room the cough came at them hard and rattling. A woman was sitting propped up against a pack on the mattress to the left of the door, a man was holding a piece of rag to her mouth and he turned and looked at the newcomers, his expression apologetic. Having taken his attention away from the woman, the cloth slipped and showed the large red patch, which he now quickly doubled over and, getting to his feet, he looked at Manuel and then at Annabella and said, ‘Hello there.’ It was Manuel who answered, ‘Hello.’
‘It’s the rain an’ the cold; it brings it on.’ He glanced back at the woman on the mattress, and Manuel said, ‘Ah yes, I see.’ And he did see. The woman had the consumption and if he was any judge she wasn’t far off her end, poor soul. He glanced at Annabella. She was standing at the foot of her mattress. Her eyes, stretched wide, were fixed on the woman, and there was fear in them.
The Glass Virgin Page 24
