The Glass Virgin

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Why don’t you try and see, Robbie?’

  ‘Should I, Sam?’

  ‘Aye, do Robbie. You try and see.’

  They were both rocking with their jocular exchange now and when the taller edged himself to her side, and, his shoulder almost level with her waist, he went to put his arm around it, he received a hefty clout from a bundle on the top of his head.

  Annabella could not believe that she had hit the man with her bundle, but then she was so frightened it would have been all the same if she’d had a knife in her hand, she would have used it.

  ‘One to her,’ the other young fellow shouted, and brought all the faces in the room turned towards her, all laughing.

  Where was Manuel? Her heart was pounding with a mixture of fear and indignation.

  ‘Queen of the castle, she is. Go on, Robbie, storm the walls.’ Egged on by a number of voices now, the young fellow, adopting a sparring attitude, put out his arms again towards her, but when she went to use the bundle this time it was grabbed in mid-air, and the youth tossed it to his companion, and in doing so he turned his face from her for a moment and her hand came out and slapped his cheek so resoundingly that once again he staggered backwards. But now he was no longer smiling. His lips pushing outwards, his eyes screwed into deep sockets, he cried, ‘Want it rough, eh? Want it rough? All right then, you’ll have it rough,’ but before he could demonstrate what action his roughness was to take he felt himself suddenly hauled upwards and balancing on the tips of his toes and there, dangling opposite to him was his pal, Sam. Then as his head came in sharp, sickening contact with his friend’s he saw nothing but the proverbial stars for a few minutes.

  Manuel dropped the two youths on to their feet again amid a dead silence. Even the munching of pies and the slopping of peas had stopped and a pathway suddenly opened to the door. After retrieving her bundle and hitching the pack on to one shoulder, he pushed her before him and out into the street.

  They had walked some steps before she stammered, ‘It . . . was . . . n’t my fault.’

  ‘Who’s sayin’ it was?’

  She felt a surge of relief as she saw he was grinning at her, and when he said softly, ‘That was one right ladylike clout you gave him,’ she drooped her head in confusion for a second before lifting it sharply and exclaiming, ‘You saw! You were there?’

  ‘Not all the time. I came in as you were wielding the bundle at him.’

  She was looking down again as she said, ‘It is the first time I have lifted my hand to anyone. I never imagined I could.’

  He said soberly now, ‘The need for self-protection makes weaklings into warriors.’

  Outside the Phoenix there were groups of people standing, mostly men. They took up a position some distance from the door and waited. On one side of them there was a heated debate going on about the scandalous price being asked for Irish cattle, nine pounds ten a head. Scandalous. Scandalous, the voices said. On the other side a group were discussing the prices of the railway fares from Hexham to Blaydon just outside Newcastle. The disparity between the first-class and second-class was too great, two shillings for the first-class journey and only a shilling for the second-class. Either bring the first-class down or put the second-class up. And if the speaker had anything to do with it he was going to create a rumpus until the gap between the two classes was lessened. This brought a guffaw and a quip from another member of the group. Laughing loudly, he cried, ‘Be careful what you be saying, Cranbrook, and how you go about it. You suggestin’ that you want the upper class to come down and the working class to come up and meet in the middle? Lor sucks! You’re after startin’ a revolution. You want to be careful, lad, or afore you can turn round you’ll have Hetty Black’s brood hammering on the doors of Mrs Charlotte Bendle’s Young Ladies’ Academy, saying they’ve a right to be let in.’

  ‘Don’t be so daft, man. It’s prices I’m talking about going up and down, not people.’

  More laughter now as the loud voice cried, ‘People start with prices; change the prices you change the people.’

  While Manuel’s eyes were fixed on the inn, his mind on the man he was waiting for, Annabella’s ears were picking up the scraps of conversation around her. She hadn’t realised that ordinary farmers talked like this and discussed things – but then she had only met Mr Skillen; their voices might be rough and their laughter loud, but the substance of their speech indicated thinking and doing. She had never thought the common people capable of thinking. It came to her at this moment that although she had a great deal for which to thank Rosina, she also had a great deal to blame her for. She had brought her up to believe that there were only two classes in the world, those with education and those without. The people without were to be treated kindly, but kept in their place, in fact like domestic animals.

  ‘There they are.’

  Hitching his pack upwards he moved forward and she followed him.

  ‘Ah! You’ve come then.’ Mr Fairbairn’s voice was thick and jovial. ‘Missus.’ He turned to the woman at his side, whose head just came up to his shoulder and who, in her hooped dress and short cape, appeared like a small decorated barrel.

  ‘This is the pair. There you are, what do you think I’ve picked?’

  Mrs Fairbairn looked first at Manuel. Starting with his head, her keen brown eyes swept over his body, seeming to pause where the muscles lay, then with a nod and a smile she said, ‘He looks as if he’ll do.’ And now she turned her attention to Annabella. ‘Lift your hood, girl.’

  Annabella pushed the hood back from her head and for a fleeting second she again visualised the slave market, but her future mistress was nodding at her in the most pleasant manner. It was strange, Annabella thought, that the little woman had a face not unlike her husband’s, and her manner was certainly similar to his, brisk but quite kind.

  ‘You’re a bonny piece, I’ll say that for a start. But looks don’t whiten no linens, so I can’t say further till I’ve seen your work, can I, girl?’

  ‘No, Madam.’

  The little woman’s eyebrows shot up. It was evident that she wasn’t displeased with the title, in fact slightly flattered, but nevertheless she said, ‘Missus is my title, not madam; it’s a farmhouse you’re coming to.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to be for that. Well, let’s get going, Mr Fairbairn.’ Thus addressing her husband, she turned away and he, nodding at them, indicated that they should follow.

  Their conveyance was awaiting them at the ostler’s. It was a two-horse waggon. It had been converted to suit all purposes. The driving seat had a wooden rain screen over it, the back was covered with sail canvas supported on a ridge pole like a tent, and this part was already more than half full with boxes and brown paper-wrapped packages, which indicated that the missus had been doing quite a lot of shopping.

  ‘Up you get!’ said Mr Fairbairn, and on this Manuel helped Annabella up and under the canvas. Then, pushing in his pack, he hoisted himself on to the footboard, and sat with his legs hanging over the end of it.

  As the cart began its rollicking way over the cobbles he turned his head and looked at Annabella and smiled, and when, tentatively, she smiled back at him, he leant backwards and whispered, ‘I’ve an idea we’ve fallen on our feet.’

  As the journey lengthened the going became rougher, and time and time again they found themselves in a huddle against one or other side of the cart. Before darkness descended Mr Fairbairn stopped and lit the lamps and called to them, ‘Won’t be long now, under an hour.’

  That hour seemed like ten to Annabella. Her body felt bruised all over; she was cold to the bone and so hungry she couldn’t remember feeling so hungry. When the cart finally stopped amid the barking of dogs and high voices and Mr Fairbairn boomed, ‘Well, here you are. Get you down,’ and Manuel lifted her from the back of the cart, she
would have fallen on to her face if he hadn’t steadied her with his hands.

  ‘I’ve . . . I’ve got cramp.’

  ‘Stamp your feet.’ His voice was an undertoned hiss, for he was looking towards the lighted door of the house, and as she drunkenly stamped her feet and brought the circulation back into her legs she, too, looked towards the lighted doorway, from whence there seemed to be a crowd of people surging forward, hampered by the prancing dogs. When they reached the cart they all talked at once.

  ‘Hello, Ma.’

  ‘Hello, Ma.’

  ‘How did it go, Da?’

  ‘Oh, you’ve got them.’

  ‘Well, come on, don’t let’s stand here, it’s enough to chill your liver. Hold the lantern higher.’

  ‘Here you, Sep!’ This was Mr Fairbairn’s voice. ‘See to the animals, they’ve had a hard pull and a long day. But wait, let’s get these things out of the back . . . Down with you, Duke. You’d think we’d been away a year . . . And you two’ – he was shouting at them now – ‘go on, get inside, you’ll want a belly-warmer after that ride.’

  Annabella went through the sea of shadow-splashed faces towards the stone-flagged porch, four steps across it and into a room, and all she took in at the moment of entry was that it was extremely large, so very warm, and held the wonderful smell of roasting food.

  She stood just inside the door, Manuel by her side, his cap in his hand, and there flooded past them back into the house two big young men, replicas of the farmer, and a tall young woman of like size and colouring to her brothers, and they gathered round the little woman, taking her cape, her bonnet, her gloves, all the while talking, asking questions.

  ‘What did you get, Ma?’

  ‘Did you get my dress piece and the thread?’

  ‘I hope you didn’t forget me baccy.’

  ‘You and your baccy, our Michael.’

  ‘Did you get that thing I asked you for Sarah, Ma?’

  ‘Will you be quiet, all of you, and let me get me breath. You’re touching nothing, you’re getting nothing, until I get something to eat, until we all get something to eat. Come here, girl.’ She turned towards Annabella, then, nodding towards Manuel, added, ‘And you.’

  And when they moved forward and into the radius of one of the two lamps standing on a long table running down the centre of the room, on which was laid a meal, she addressed Annabella, saying, ‘Well now, take off your cloak and let’s have a good look at you.’

  Annabella’s stiff fingers undid the hook of her hood and then the buttons of her cloak, and when she removed it Manuel took it from her hand and laid it over his arm, and he stared at her, his expression slightly apprehensive now. But he need not have worried. Whatever she was feeling she didn’t show it, and he breathed deeply and looked at the two stalwart young men who were staring at Annabella, as was their mother. But not the daughter; the daughter was looking at him. She had a straightforward look, like that of her father. He didn’t take the liberty of staring back at her, he just looked at her. She was a comely looking girl. His attention was brought back to the little woman who was saying, ‘You’re as thin as a rake, you want feeding, me girl. You can’t work if you don’t get your food. Now sit yourself down, both of you’ – she pointed to one of the settles that ran at right angles to the big open fire – ‘and we’ll all have a bowl of broth to melt our innards, and then we can talk. This is my eldest son, Willy.’ She went straight on as she pointed to the taller of the two men, and Willy inclined his head towards Annabella but said nothing. ‘And this is Michael, my second son.’ Michael also inclined his head towards Annabella, his eyes unblinking. ‘Sep, he’s the youngest, he’ll be in shortly. And this, my daughter, Agnes. And it’s because she’s going off and getting married that you’re here. But more explanations later. Now that broth, Agnes.’

  ‘It’s all ready, Ma.’

  Agnes now ran down the room and to another fire which had baking ovens on each side and a big double-handled kale pot resting on the hob. Swinging it up expertly, she brought it to the table and having set it on a wooden stand she ladled thick broth into bowls, then swiftly handed them round, smiling all the while.

  Annabella had never tasted soup like this before. They had had all kinds of soup in the House, hare soup, partridge soup, pheasant soup, soup à la reine, but none of them had ever tasted like this.

  ‘Would you like some more?’ Agnes was bending down to her.

  ‘If you please, it’s delicious.’

  The farmer’s daughter stared at the new help, and she just prevented herself from laughing outright for it sounded as if the girl was mimicking a lady, like one you would get up at Falcon House across the moor.

  ‘She won’t have any more of that,’ it was Mrs Fairbairn speaking, ‘else she’ll have no room for her dinner. By the way, girl, where did you learn to speak?’

  Annabella did not glance towards Manuel, although she knew he was looking at her, before she said, ‘I was brought up in a convent.’

  ‘Ah! Ah! That’s it then.’ Her mistress was nodding knowingly at her.

  ‘In a convent?’ Agnes’ voice was high and she went on to say what was in all their minds. ‘Then why, what I mean to say is, that if you were brought up in a convent, why are you . . . ?’

  It was Manuel’s voice that cut her off, his tone even. ‘Her parents died and she had no-one else, so . . . so she came over to my people. We were distant relations, different to what she had been used to, but it was a home.’

  They were all looking at him, and then the two young men nodded as if to say, ‘Well, you did the right thing taking her in.’

  Mrs Fairbairn said, ‘Pity, pity. But there, ’tis life. Come on you, Agnes, and get that dinner dished. Oh, here we are.’ She turned towards the door where her husband and younger son were entering, and she called to them, ‘Have your broth quick now, ’cos dinner’s going on the table. She speaks well.’ The little woman, still looking at her husband, nodded towards Annabella. ‘She was telling us why.’ She now related the tale that Manuel had just told, briefly and almost word for word, and Mr Fairbairn, looking at Annabella, nodded his head and Sep, gazing at them, nodded too.

  ‘Now then, come and sit yourselves up. You, Manuel. That’s a mouthful of a name, never heard one like it. Anyway, you’ll sit there.’ She pointed to a seat at the bottom right-hand corner of the table. ‘That’s your place.’

  Then pointing to one opposite, she said, ‘And that’s yours, girl. And from now on you’ll eat with us and be as one of the family. If you stay with us as long as Jack and Ruth that were here afore you did, then you’ll be here well nigh eleven years. They only went ’cos he had a bit of land left him in the South. It was natural he would want to go. Now this seat next to you—’ she pointed this time to the side of Annabella, ‘that’s Betty’s seat. Betty, she be gone to bury her mother. We took her in with us this morning and put her on the train for Blaydon. Likely be gone five, six days. However long it takes, that’s her place. Betty’s a good girl, she helps me in the kitchen and the dairy, yours is the house. Agnes will show you the ropes the morrow and by the time her weddin’ day comes you should be well in the swing of it.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Annabella’s voice was low but Mrs Fairbairn’s was high as she cried, ‘No Madam or Ma’am I told you, missus you call me. That’s all, missus. That’s what I am and will be till I die.’

  All this while Agnes Fairbairn had been putting big covered dishes along the length of the table, and now finally she carried a huge delf platter, on which was resting a roast leg of pork surrounded by bursting baked apples.

  At one point during the meal Annabella wondered if she were dreaming for when she felt she couldn’t swallow another bite Agnes brought on to the table an enormous fruit roly-poly and a great jug of hot syrup.

  She looked across at M
anuel. His eyes seemed to be waiting for hers, and as he smiled at her she thought, He’s happy, and I’ll be happy here too. But it all seems too good to be true.

  The meal finally finished, the men rose and went towards the settles. Mr Fairbairn said over his shoulder to Manuel, ‘Like a pipe?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Well, come and put it on.’

  Manuel pushed his chair back and, after exchanging glances at Annabella, as much as to say, I told you we had fallen on our feet, he joined the men by the fire.

  Annabella would have liked to sit in the corner of the settle and hold her feet out towards the blaze, but she was learning fast and so, getting up, she began to gather the dishes together at the bottom of the table, and her mistress said to her, ‘That’s it, girl; the quicker they’re done the quicker you’ll sit down. Agnes will give you a hand, and as she wants to see what’s in those parcels’ – she jerked her head towards her daughter – ‘I bet you ten to one these dishes won’t know what’s hit them afore they’re on the racks.’

  There was a high laugh from Agnes and she began clearing her end of the table with a speed that bewildered Annabella, but she said to herself, This is what I must learn to do, move quickly. If she wanted to fit in here, speed seemed to be important, and she did want to fit in here. Oh she did; and she meant to.

  Manuel, happening to look towards her as she bustled about the table, thought, She’s picking up quick. Yes, she was indeed. He kept his eyes for a few minutes on the swaying of her skirt as it hung from her slim hips; then turning his gaze to the fire, he looked into the flames that were straining up into the narrow funnel of the chimney and Margee came into his mind again. What had she said? He would eventually come to riches. Why should he think of Margee at this moment? Perhaps because she could see pictures in the fire. Was this house going to have some effect on his life? Well, he now glanced towards Agnes Fairbairn where she was going down the long room, her arms laden with dishes, and he thought, wryly, his fortunes wouldn’t be favoured by the daughter of the house as she was about to marry, so that fairy tale was ended before it began. But why should the feeling of Margee be strong on him at this moment? Would he meet somebody here? A woman perhaps. Why was he asking such silly questions of himself when he knew he wanted to meet no woman? Deep inside his mind he knew what he wanted. Impossible as it was he knew what he wanted. But enough of all this fey thinking; for the time being he was well set. They were a grand family this, and no matter what work they expected of him he knew he wouldn’t change his opinion of them from what it was now, and if he had his way he would stay as long as his predecessors.