Windy Night, Rainy Morrow

by Ivy Ferrari

  ‘Like to come up, Tina?’

  Stone steps were set sideways to the wall, leading up to the open door of the pigeon loft. Tina mounted and joined Matt inside the doorway.

  ‘Hallo!’ he smiled. ‘Quite a surprise to see you. I thought I was on my own for the afternoon. I’ve some birds out racing and I’ve got to wait here at the trap. They should be in soon now. Here, take a seat on that box, if you’d like to watch. I’ve three due, but as soon as they’re in we can go over and have a cup of tea.’

  Tina gazed about her with curiosity. The rough rafters and walls were whitewashed. She saw nesting boxes and water bowls and an erection of compartments built up to the ceiling.

  ‘That’s the trap.’ Matt explained. ‘You’ve seen the bob wires hanging over the trap opening. The birds fly through but can’t get out again. They land in this main compartment. I throw some seed down for them, and catch them as they’re pecking. Then they’ve got to be timed by the clock and the thimbles.’

  ‘Thimbles?’

  He smiled. ‘Not the ladies’ kind. The pigeon’s ring is slipped off as soon as he comes in and fitted in the timing thimble to record his arrival time. The longer you take to catch your bird the longer is chalked up for the race. That’s why I’ve a warning bell on the bob-stays. If I do have to go over to the house I know in a second then that one of the birds has arrived.’

  ‘Do you win prizes?’ Tina asked.

  Matt pointed to some pigeons already on perches in the trap. ‘Red Biddy, she won a hundred and five miles. Dark Joy, though, she’s a three-hundred-miler—’

  ‘Dark Joy?’ Tina was startled. ‘Did you think of that name, Matt?’

  He looked a little confused, his quiet eyes avoiding hers. ‘Aye, I did. Why do you ask?’

  ‘It’s rather—poetical. But joy shouldn’t be dark, surely?’

  Matt shrugged. It’s the same as calling a thing bitter-sweet. You get to thinking a lot, alone in a loft, you know. It’s the quiet and the waiting. And, come to that, I’ve found most happy things have a shadow on them somewhere—’

  He broke off as the bell jangled. There was a bright flutter of wings at the bob-stays and a mealie and white pigeon swooped to the loft floor. Matt threw in a handful of maize and as the other birds fluttered down to join the returned racer, Matt opened a wire-netted door in the trap, reached in and secured the bird. The next instant he had the ring off and in the timing clock. He released the bird into the trap again.

  ‘What’s that?’ Tina saw him unroll a tiny cylinder of paper. He read its message, screwed it up and pocketed it. ‘Oh, they often send a message when they release the birds. It’s quicker than the threepenny post and more reliable.’ He grinned. ‘I once had an argument with Mrs. Butterfield as to whether the Romans used pigeon post on the Wall.’

  ‘To communicate with Rome, you mean?’ Tina was intrigued. ‘But surely a pigeon couldn’t fly so far?’

  ‘In this day and age they do. The first one to do that distance was in 1907, from San Sebastian. Eight hundred miles in fourteen days. I had one who did four hundred, but it’s dead now.’

  ‘What did Carrie think?’

  ‘She wouldn’t have it. In any case, as she pointed out, they could flash messages by heliograph to Rome in six hours.’

  Two more birds arrived in quick succession, Sky Angel and Hope On.

  ‘Hope On?’ Tina repeated. ‘Why that name?’

  ‘Because I keep hoping on they’ll turn up safe. She’s a bit of chancy hen, that one.’ His shapely hand caressed the glossy slate feathers. She sensed a certain embarrassment.

  ‘You love your birds, don’t you? Even more than people sometimes?’ Tina asked curiously.

  ‘That’s a leading question.’ Gently he replaced Hope On in the trap. ‘Come on, we’ll go and make some tea. Then we might have a walk. Have you been right up the Quarry woods yet?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘It’s a bonny walk.’ They entered the back door. ‘I’m afraid the place is in a bit of a mess. Francey’s off out somewhere.’

  Tina was undismayed by the dying fire, the uncleared table and the coats and boots lying about. But she did wonder if Francey’s date was with Chris, and if Francey knew he was still married.

  Matt went with quiet deliberation about his preparations for tea, reviving the fire with a handful of kindling, setting the already bubbling black kettle on the flames and clearing the table. Tina reached for clean cups from the dresser. ‘Where’s Jamey?’ She asked.

  ‘Oh, he’s off to Haydon Bridge. There’s a new lass in the guest house there. He quite fancies her.’ Matt took the cups from her, his warm fingers touching hers. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t suppose you’ve ever done housework in your life, have you?’

  Tina shook her head. ‘No, I’ve never had to.’

  ‘Then you’ll never have to marry a poor man.’ His eyes were shy but insistent. ‘You should never have anything to do but just look bonny.’

  She pulled a face. ‘How boring!’

  Yet she was touched, almost embarrassed. She knew it had cost Matt an effort to betray his admiration. He was obviously attracted but awed. Over the cups of tea and some rather stale shop cake she did her best to put him at his ease, describing her home in Rome, her life before Bruno died. He soon warmed into quiet talk.

  ‘I’m glad you came, Tina. Saturdays I don’t do much.’

  ‘Don’t you ever go out with girls?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not like Jamey. He’s got to be proving himself all the time, scared he’s slipping. If there’s a new girl around he can’t rest until she’s eating out of his hand, like one of my birds ... Aye, and he’d chase you if he thought he had a chance. But you saw through him, first go off.’

  ‘I suppose I did.’ she hesitated. ‘Matt, don’t you—haven’t you got a girl, then?’

  He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t marry yet, or even think of it. Not until the twins are turned sixteen and able to stand on their own feet. We’ve not much of a home, but it’s all they’ve got.’

  Tina was moved. She believed him quite capable of such self-sacrifice, whatever the price to himself. Supposing, for instance, he had already fallen in love and had to deny his feelings? She couldn’t help remembering her wonder over Helen and Matt. But all she said was:

  ‘It’s hard on you—and on any girl who falls in love with you.’

  ‘That’s why’—his honest blue eyes met hers—‘I make a point of telling girls how they stand. Then—well, they get frightened off. It stands to reason all girls want marriage, not just friendship.’

  ‘I would.’ Tina said.

  ‘You would what?’ His gaze across the table was wistful but wary.

  ‘I’d like to be your friend. I mean it. You were Bruno’s friend, weren’t you?’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘And you might be able to help me.’ Tina rushed on. ‘About Bruno—and all this gossip. You might be able to help me clear it up.’

  ‘Is that why?’ his face darkened.

  ‘I’m not just using you—no!’ she flared impatiently. ‘You’re far too touchy, Matt.’

  ‘Aye, Tina, touchy. Or so I’ve been told. When you’ve had to put up with a lot of humiliation, one way and another—when you’ve got to be beholden to folks you’d rather not owe a penny or a kind word to—you do get touchy.’

  ‘You mean—Adam Copeland?’ She was startled.

  His cup crashed into the saucer. He ignored her question. ‘What do you want to know about Bruno, Tina?’

  ‘Did he have any other girls—besides Helen, I mean?’

  ‘I’ve never seen him with any. But I’ll tell you this—there were plenty after him. He was different, after all. Aye, and that soft Italian voice—he could have had his choice of girls.’

  ‘But—you don’t think he did?’ she faltered.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ He took a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. ‘I told you
before, Tina—he wasn’t the kind to give anything away.’

  ‘But you said you were friends. Friends usually confide in each other.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. He respected my affairs and I respected his.’

  Tina said slowly: ‘If you ever do find out there was another girl—you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I might.’ His voice had shortened.

  Tina collected the cups. ‘And there’s another thing I wanted to ask. Did you know Helen Copeland well?’

  ‘Leave those cups, Tina. Francey can do them when she gets home—it’s little enough she does ... Helen? She was always a cut above me, boarding school and all that. And Adam Copeland’s always been one to vet her friends.’

  ‘But he approved of Bruno at first.’ Tina reasoned. ‘For a man so sure of his own judgment—as he is—doesn’t that just prove there couldn’t have been much wrong on Bruno’s side? Helen’s much more likely to have been at fault.’

  Matt shook his head. ‘Are you trying to say she had some other man?’ His eyes searched hers suspiciously.

  ‘Didn’t Jamey once—’

  Matt stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I’ll tell you what happened about Jamey. He enticed her out once—oh, it would be two years ago now. She was always a bit on the wild side, ready for any adventure. But Adam, he found out. He came right here and knocked Jamey down. And he promised him worse if he ever mixed with Helen again.’

  Tina stared, her heart in her throat ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I left Jamey to take his medicine. Besides, after all Adam Copeland had done for us, I could hardly complain. Anyway, our Jamey’s got a bad reputation where girls are concerned, though most of it’s just talk.’

  ‘And Jamey hasn’t been with Helen since?’

  ‘Not on your life. He’d run a mile rather than try. Jamey’s a fool in most things, but he has a healthy respect for Adam Copeland.’

  ‘But you haven’t—is that it?’

  ‘We’d be in a poor way without his help.’

  ‘And that’s why you don’t like him.’ she said slowly.

  Matt got up with an impatient movement. ‘Come on, Tina. It’s a fine night. Let’s take a walk.’

  Tina now had the firm conviction Matt resented her questions. She knew an instant’s despair, then told herself perhaps she had been too insistent, that patience was the answer.

  They walked across the moor track to the Quarry woods, Tina’s gaze draw often towards Hadrian’s Edge. The turrets and gables of the house were limned darkly against a sky of apricot and turquoise, rising like a witch tower from the dark lace of the tree tops. It was a fit eyrie for its master, she thought Soon, though, they had turned away, past the tree house, to take the path leading into the gloom of larch and pine, of thickets still tawny with last autumn’s leaves. The twilit peace of the woods soothed her.

  ‘There’ll be a whole sheet of bluebells here later on.’ Matt told her. ‘And primroses high up there, where the bank climbs. That’s the best time, about May and June.’ He showed her the entrance to a badger’s sett, identified various birds by their calls and plumage, spoke of an old fox he often met in the woods. Tina, ignorant of country ways, found his quiet informed talk fascinating. There was much more to Matt than she had realised, after all. In the sophisticated world of her former life he would have seemed clumsy, boorish, even ignorant. In his own element he showed a new confidence and assurance.

  They came to a gate set in an arch of trees and overlooking the shadowed reaches of the moors. ‘Tell me about Bruno,’ Tina pleaded. ‘Anything you can think of—his favourite places, where he used to talk ... Did he ever come here?’

  Matt looked at her soberly. ‘It must be rotten for you, Tina, never being able to talk about Bruno up there at the house. I’m sorry if I was a bit short with you before ... I can’t tell you much about his movements, apart from him coming to Quarry Farm. He was mostly out in the car with Helen. And about that time I was working over at Tipstones and didn’t get home till late. But we’d some good nights at our place. I think he liked to get away from Hadrian’s Edge at times.’

  Tina was startled. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Why not? Oh, Adam Copeland had accepted him, but he’d still have to toe the line in a way. At our place he could relax. We’d get some beer in, play cards—just the four of us—and have some laughs. He was a right good mimic, wasn’t he? That way he had of imitating an opera star!’

  Memories burned and ached. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad he was happy with you all. I suppose Francey—’

  ‘Aye, Francey liked him. Though it’s always been Adam Copeland she’s really soft on.’ He laid his big hand over hers on the mossed gate-top. ‘It could be like that with us, Tina—the way it was with Francey and Bruno. Just good friends.’

  Tina remembered uneasily that the time-worn phrase had lately grown sinister overtones, especially in newspaper gossip columns. But Matt spoke innocently enough. He held her hand in his warm grasp now, and she left it there, a sense of security stealing over her. Perhaps he was right. She was lost and bewildered, still grieving sorely for Bruno; he was islanded in a perpetual duty to his family. There was, perhaps, something even more than friendship they could exchange; and understanding and sympathy they couldn’t find from their own sex.

  Matt walked with her as far as the cross tracks. ‘Want me to come right up to the house?’ She sensed his reluctance. She shook her head. Twilight was now dimming the woods, and a champagne-coloured moon had risen above the gables of Hadrian’s Edge. ‘I’ll be there in five minutes. No wolves in these woods, are there?’ she teased.

  ‘There probably were, when the Romans guarded the ridge there.’ He smiled, pressed her hand again. Thanks for coming to see me, Tina. It’s been—great. Be seeing you!’

  She called good-bye softly and ran down the path under the roof of trees, the wind soughing eerily in the bare branches. Then she screamed as a figure sprang at her out of the thicket. Her heart seemed to stop. She heard Jamey’s laugh. He put out a hand to steady her. ‘No wolves, I heard you say. Well, here’s a human one.’ But he released her again, grinning in amusement at her flustered state.

  ‘You beast, Jamey! I nearly had a heart attack. Anyway, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Taking a short cut home.’ He shrugged. ‘Not much talent about tonight.’

  ‘Meaning no one would look at you, I suppose?’

  He grinned. ‘So it’s Matt now, is it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t.’ she snapped.

  ‘No? So now you’re going in to keep Adam Copeland company.’

  ‘Wrong again. He’s out visiting Helen.’

  ‘Does he never take you with him?’

  Tina said reluctantly, ‘I don’t even know where she is.’

  Jamey lit a cigarette. ‘I know where she is, Tina.’

  ‘Then—where?’ Her voice was hopeful.

  ‘She’s at her aunt’s—Miss Coxon, an old battleaxe who used to be a hospital sister. Now she runs this convalescent home at Thornriggs, over Bellingham way. Turret House, it’s called.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ Tina was elated but suspicious.

  He laughed. ‘They’d have a right job to keep it a secret from me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I’m always over there. Oh, not at the house. But there’s a farm at the back of it run by a friend of ours, Charlie Philips. He’s a bachelor and a bit sweet on Francey, as it happens. Pity she can’t see sense and marry him, for he’s doing well ... I go there making deliveries for Dixon’s.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Tina remembered that Jamey worked for a local cattle dealer.

  ‘Charlie’s like Matt.’ Jamey went on. ‘Another pigeon fancier. They sometimes swop birds. I often drop messages or a basket of pigeons for Matt. You see he won’t go near Charlie’s place now Helen’s there. If you ask me he’s scared Adam Copeland might get the wrong idea.’

  ‘And what about you? Aren’t y
ou scared of Adam Copeland?’ Tina was remembering Matt’s words.

  Jamey went suddenly silent, watching the glowing end of his cigarette. ‘Be all the same if I was, wouldn’t it? I’ve got to do my haulage work for the firm—delivering there.’ His voice lightened again. Well, now I’ve done you a favour, telling you all this, what about coming dancing with me next Saturday?’

  It was Tina’s turn to laugh. ‘Has everything you do got a price?’

  ‘Just about. Will you, then?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That my chances are pretty poor?’ he chuckled.

  ‘I’ll let you know if I change my mind. But thanks for the information, anyway.’

  ‘You’re welcome, pet! Be seeing you!’ He went off whistling into the shadows.

  Tina returned to Hadrian’s Edge not a little satisfied. Now she knew where to find Helen, she meant to visit her without delay. It ought not to be too difficult to keep that visit secret from Adam Copeland.

  As for Jamey, she couldn’t help wondering about his calls at Turret House farm. As he said, it was all to do with his work. Yet what a convenient cover if he still meant to see Helen Copeland.

  Jamey ... Yes, it was still a possibility. Matt could have been quite deceived about his brother. And Jamey, for all his reputation, was no fool. Tina guessed that where his own affairs were concerned he could be as deep and secretive as Matt.

  Altogether, she felt that she had learned a lot. The visit to Helen might well reveal more...

  On Monday afternoon Tina was at the dig as usual. As always she became lost in the past, kneeling in mud and dirt, with the scent of bruised grass about her, handling with reverent fingers every significant scrap of evidence her ‘grid’ might yield. Even the different layers of earth, of stones and gravel told their own fascinating tales of building and pillage, of restoration and further destruction.

  Until almost tea-time she was so absorbed she hadn’t noticed the change in the weather. The wind had roughened again and sagging black clouds raced to obscure the pale April sun. She had already planned to miss the evening meal at Hadrian’s Edge and to find her way to Thornriggs before dark.