To get away from the vicinity of Florrie and incidentally to soothe the twins he took them to the white elephant stall, where after picking ticket No. 13 he was presented with ‘The Monarch of the Glen’. This picture was the village joke, for it went the rounds every year. It was after this incident that Peter seemed to sense a change in the atmosphere about them, for they were now greeted with loud hilarity wherever they went, a hilarity that he found it difficult to join his easy laugh to. For instance, when Dan Wilkins stood on a box and yelled out about a mystery raffle, drawing a crowd around him, and then to the consternation of the twins produced a half-smothered squawking Penelope. The laughter became hilarious, but it was mostly, Peter noticed, coming from the men. If it hadn’t been too silly to consider he would have sworn that the fellows were showing off, and all for Leo’s benefit. It would seem too that for the moment they had lost the fear of their women-folk, for even Bill came up and greeted Leo. But it must be said that his Amelia was nowhere to be seen. Rosie too had kept her word, and this saddened him more than he would admit.
But Leo seemed happy. She had entered into the spirit of the sports; though not partaking in anything she seemed to be enjoying everything. And then she said, ‘I’d love a cup of tea.’
There was a tea stall close at hand, and he looked towards it, but she had already turned her gaze towards the marquee. And she asked, ‘What about it?’
To take her into the marquee would constitute an act of bravery. Teas in the marquee were reserved for the cream of the parish, none of the lads ever went into the marquee. But now, walking by her side, he went towards the tent.
Teas in the marquee and all they entailed came under the supervision of Mrs Carrington-Barrett, and her second-in-command, as in the Women’s Institute, was Miss Collins. From a vantage point inside the marquee Mrs Carrington-Barrett was now keeping a trained eye on the trays of cakes, making sure that the two-pennies did not get intermingled with the three-pennies and that a solicitous mother, as most of the waitresses were, did not slip a plate of cakes under the upturned brails to a young member of her family—it had been done.
With the exception of a table for four which was, at present, seating only the major—here today under protest—and the vicar—here as a duty and part of his cross—the rest of the twelve tables were occupied. And this was instantly evident to Peter when, Leo going before him, he entered the marquee.
Whereas the reactions to them on the field had been somewhat covert, now they became definitely visible. Interest could be seen running like a swelling wave around the tent, and the crest hit the major and the vicar with seeming force.
The vicar’s reaction was writ large on his face, for the poor man was still shaking with the implications levelled at him by his sister a few hours earlier. The major was of sterner stuff, though a battle had raged in his drawing room only yesterday when, admitting he had lain on the grass with the lady now sailing straight towards him, he had at the same time stoutly denied any monkey business but had bravely threatened it should he hear another word of such nonsense, by God! And then at lunchtime today Florrie, who had always been his ally, had had to lean across the table and ask him out of the blue, ‘Do you remember the tale of Connie Fitzpatrick?’ Connie Fitzpatrick! Had they all gone mad?
Now the major rose and smiled a greeting, and Leo, returning the smile, said with a familiarity that was seldom used towards the village autocrat, ‘Hello there, Major,’ and the major, inclining his head into a bow which as a rule he reserved for high occasions only, replied, ‘How d’you do?’ Then reaching forward he pulled out a chair, adding ‘Hello there, Peter.’
‘Hello, sir.’
Try as he might, Peter could not prevent some nervousness from coming over in his voice. And who wouldn’t be nervous with Mrs C-B and Miss Collins looking at her like that…He had been stark raving mad to let her come in here.
‘You have met our vicar?’ The major levelled his gaze on the obviously writhing and wilting man, and Leo, sitting down while at the same time with a swansdown tap touching the vicar’s sleeve, said, ‘Oh yes, we have met—and talked.’ She stressed the last word, then added with a bubble to her voice, ‘And not of pews and steeples and the cash that goes therewith either.’
On this quip the major let out a staccato and bullet-cracking roar that filled the marquee and brought a sweat to Peter’s brow while seeming to cast a spell on all the other occupants, and in the stillness the major’s voice sounded as if he were speaking into a tunnel as he boisterously finished the quotation: ‘“But the souls of Christian peoples. Chuck it, Smith!” Good old Chesterton! Well put, miss.’
The major was now fully aware of his wife’s eyes beating a tattoo of signals towards him, and he took a gleeful delight in ignoring them. All the years he had been married to her she had never been able to cap a damn line of his, nor understand one of his quotations, yet she played the learned lady to those who knew no better, and it served them damned well right for being taken in—they didn’t read, nobody read these days—but this girl here, she might look like a floozie but, damn it, she had a mind. Look at the other day when he had come upon her in the wood and said, ‘You all alone?’ and she had quoted Dickens as pat as pat: ‘“Lo the city is dead. I’ve seen but an eel.”’ It was odd but she seemed to know he had a weakness for quotations. Ah, he had enjoyed that hour. But would he have done so had he known he was being watched? Watched! The thought infuriated him still. Blast their eyes, for sneaking, brainless busybodies.
‘What d’you say?’ There was a bark in the major’s voice as his attention was brought to the Reverend again.
‘Nothing…nothing. I wasn’t speaking.’ And Mr Collins wasn’t speaking, he was choking. His sister was not more than three yards away and the look she was fastening on him was causing him to experience a most odd feeling, as if he had been caught committing an indecency, like in a dream.
He coughed into his handkerchief, and the major said, ‘Take a drink of tea, man. It’s that cake, it’s dry. Well now’—he looked at Leo again—‘you’d like a cup of tea, wouldn’t you? Where’s everybody?’ As he raised his hand to beckon one of the tea-bearers, Peter said hastily, ‘I’ll get it, sir.’
‘Oh, all right. And bring me another one, too, will you, Peter? What about you?’
This simple question seemed to startle the vicar still further and he stammered, ‘No…no thanks. I was j-j-just about to go…prizes.’
‘Let them wait, man, they won’t run away. Well, what do you think of our sports?’ Once again the major gave Leo all his attention, and she smiled widely at him as she said, ‘I think they’re excellent. It’s very well organised.’
‘Hm! Nothing like it used to be. Real races at one time…horses, from here to Blanchland, round Bannock Fell Farm and back. Grand day! Fine do it used to be! They came from all over the county, and beyond, to compete. Now folks are too busy—or no money. Or if they have they do showjumping—nothing for the sport of the thing. Have us put down the hunt they would…Don’t be cruel to the foxes—bah! What d’you say, Vicar?’ There had come into the major’s eyes a deep, humorous glimmer.
‘Well—well—’ the vicar stretched his neck in an attempt to assert himself and to make a show of his principles even under these very trying circumstances, ‘you know what I think of racing…of—of any kind, Major.’
‘Now, now, what about it?’ The major pointed to the open end of the marquee where could be seen the races in progress, and when the vicar shook his head, dismissing such a trumpery comparison, the major leaned towards Leo and said, ‘What about one to fit racing, eh?’
Returning his twinkle and entering into his mood, Leo put her head back and looked up thoughtfully towards the apex of the tent; then after a moment of consideration, she shook her head saying ‘No, I can’t think of one. No.’ Her head still back she turned it to the side as if still thinking, and from this position she watched Peter threading his way back towards them with a tray of tea, and ov
er the distance she sent him a look that caused the blood to flood up into his face, and as he neared the table she called playfully to him, ‘Do you know a quotation for racing, Peter?’
‘Quotation for racing? No, I don’t.’ He wished she wouldn’t act like this. She was doing it on purpose, a sort of teasing. Something had got into her. She looked as if she was in love with him, and the major, and the vicar and all mankind. Why was she doing it? There seemed to be a kind of devil in her, an egging-on, teasing devil. He’d had glimpses of it before, in the bar when Mrs Booth was behind the counter.
The women were furious. He was thankful his mother wasn’t here after all. It was bad enough to see Mrs C-B. She looked as if she was going to take off through the roof at any minute—it was evident that Mavis had talked. As for Miss Collins, he wouldn’t be surprised to see her have a fit, or pass out. And there, near the door, was Mrs Fountain, with Mrs Booth of all people. Like thunder they both looked.
‘It’s a lovely cup of tea.’ Leo sipped at the tea, pushed the damp hair back from her forehead, then said musingly, ‘Races. You know, I can’t think of one to fit races.’ She bit on her lip, her eyes laughing into the major’s over the cup brim. Then putting the cup down, she exclaimed excitedly, ‘Only that one about the human race.’ She leant across the table towards him:
‘“I wish I loved the human race,
I wish I loved its silly face.”
‘You know that one?’
The major, placing both his hands on the table, bounced his head to each word as he joined it to hers now:
‘“I wish…I liked…the way…it walks,
I wish I liked the way it talks,
And when I’m introduced to one
I wish I thought—what jolly fun.”’
They emphasised the last two words, and, but for their joint merriment and the buzz of noise from outside, for the second time within a few minutes there was absolute silence in the marquee, a shocked silence. It even enveloped Peter. Why had she to do it? And the major acting like that…he’d never imagined the major could go on like that…like his father or Bill Fountain when they were tight. He could well imagine him getting drunk, roaring drunk, or going mad on a horse, or raising hell in the house, but to act this way…silly, daft like a bairn. But she was egging him on. Why was she doing it? This would really set the place on fire.
It certainly brought the vicar to his feet, but not for the reason that Peter and the rest of the gathering imagined—they could not know that the Reverend Collins was not shocked at this unseemly display between the first gentleman of the village and this unusual-looking girl from the Hart. He was shocked at himself: first because it had taken him all his time not to join in and show them, particularly the major, that he wasn’t the only one who knew Sir Walter Raleigh’s rhyme and, secondly, the discovery had been thrust upon him that he was jealous because the major was finding so much favour in her eyes. Really! Really! He wiped his brow, and with a brief nod which included them all and singled none of them out and vindicated himself somewhat in the eyes of his sister, he left the tent.
In the hushed murmuring that crept gently into the silence following the vicar’s exit, the major, seemingly oblivious of anything unusual in the atmosphere, took a long drink of his tea. And as he did so there came the first rumble of thunder. ‘Ah! Been waiting for that.’ The major nodded at Peter. ‘It’ll be some storm when it breaks…swamp everywhere. I’d best be getting back—horses don’t like it you know. Will you excuse me?’
He inclined his head towards Leo, who smiled at him fondly as he stood up and came round the table. Then bending over her he whispered, ‘What d’you say Slinky makes her getaway tonight?’ And Leo, as if playing a game with a child, strained her face up to his and whispered back, ‘Almost certain.’
In an attempt to do the right thing Peter had risen to his feet with the major, and he now stood looking gloweringly uncomfortable. Yet it was nothing to what he was feeling, for he was now as mad at her as he had been at the major for acting the goat. She had, he felt sure, gone out of her way to encourage the old fellow.
‘Pity.’ The major’s smile lingered on her as he straightened his waistcoat. ‘Fine sight. Well, goodbye. Bye Peter.’
‘Goodbye, sir.’
He sat down again opposite her, his face straight and Leo, ignoring his look said, ‘I like him. I think he’s grand. I can understand your father swearing by him, can’t you?’
When he made no reply her face lost its laughter and she said softly, ‘I’m a wicked woman, a hussy, because I laughed with him?’
His answer came from deep in his throat: ‘It’s not that.’
‘It is that.’ Her voice was as low as his. ‘And I did it on purpose. I admit it. Do you think I am blind and insensitive to the feeling about me?’
She swallowed painfully as she stared at him. Then dropping her eyes to her cup she went on, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but I want to laugh—I must laugh. I told you, and you can’t laugh with women, they won’t let you…I shouldn’t have come here, you shouldn’t have asked me to, I see that now. It was like flaunting me under their noses, and they won’t forgive you.’
He pushed his shoulders back as he said, ‘What I do is my business. As for me bringing you here, where I go, you go.’ He leaned towards her now as he added, ‘You know that.’
He had almost become oblivious of the eyes upon them. But she hadn’t, and softer still she warned, ‘Be careful.’
What answer he would have made to this was checked by a rumbling of thunder following on a flash of lightning, and within seconds it became so dark as to seem almost like night.
There was a lively stir all about them now, and getting to his feet, he said, ‘You’d better be getting back. You haven’t got a coat, you’ll get drenched.’
She glanced about her before saying, ‘Let them get out and then we’ll go.’
Another flash of lightning, followed immediately by a deep roar of thunder, acted like a spring and gave speed to everybody’s legs, and in a few moments the marquee was empty but for the helpers, feverishly packing up.
‘Come on.’ Peter took her firmly by the arm and led her to the door of the marquee, where a blinding streak seeming to cut the heavens checked their steps and caused her to turn her face towards him for a moment before moving on.
Outside, as far as the sports field was concerned, they stepped into a changed world. Stalls were already stripped bare and their goods were being borne by willing helpers to the big tent adjoining the marquee. In the far distance the last of the spectators could only just be discerned crowding through the gate before making a dash to the village and home.
Another flash of lightning and an ear-splitting burst of thunder caused Peter to exclaim in some anxiety, ‘This is going to break any minute; we’d better run for it while we can. Come on.’
‘I’d rather walk.’
‘Walk?’ He hesitated for a second and looked at her. ‘But you’ll get drenched.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to run.’
Her tone was one he had not heard before. It was utterly flat sounding and had about it a stiff finality which tended both to puzzle and irritate him. He was tempted at this precise moment to treat her as he would do one of the twins if they were being unnecessarily trying under such similar circumstances—clout her ear, grab her by the hand and gallop her over the field. She was, he told himself, just being contrary, and as far as he could see there was nothing he could do about it. Not trusting himself to speak, he moved in silence to the gate, and there the first drops of rain came, large, slow drops, spaced wide apart. Then one minute there was only the darkened sky and the heavy stillness in the atmosphere about them and the drops of softly falling rain; the next the wind was sweeping the field with the intensity of a gale, and Peter, having to shout now, looked down on Leo in some bewilderment, and demanded, ‘You still want to dander?’
‘Yes.’
He could not hear he
r voice but the movement of her head accompanying the words made her meaning clear to him.
‘All right—’ he made himself smile grimly as he yelled, ‘we dander!’
Buffeted by the wind, they walked on, Peter suiting his pace to hers, while past them now most of the helpers were running madly for shelter. This was crazy—daft. When the storm really broke God alone knew what it would be like, and they had to go through the fields yet.
Then as if the lock gates of heaven had been opened a deluge of water seemed to fall in a complete sheet and envelop them, and in as short a time as it takes to say, they were both drenched to the skin. As she huddled against him he decided grimly that he was having no more of this damn nonsense, and so putting his arm about her, he began to run. Bringing her feet almost off the ground he propelled her forward, and he had managed to get her some way before he took any notice of her hands clawing him, but even then his determination to get out of the storm made him ignore them, and it was not until they had covered quite some distance and her hands had ceased their clawing that he looked at her. And then he was brought to a dead stop.
‘Leo!’ His voice was carried away from him. ‘Leo!’ He tried to raise her rain-drenched face, but her chin was dug into her chest and her shoulders were heaving as if she were swimming, and he shouted now in panic. ‘Leo! Leo, what is it?’
Firmly he pulled her face upwards. Her hair was plastered across it, her eyes were closed, and but for the rise and fall of her breast she could have been dead. Her face had the alabaster look of death, and he cried out in real fear, ‘Leo! Leo! What’s the matter? For God’s sake tell me! Look…Leo! Leo!’
Slinky Jane Page 15
