Not five minutes ago she had been sitting on the bank here, praying in her own fashion, giving thanks for the gift and the solace of Peter’s love, and her thoughts had been threaded with a wisdom that did not owe itself entirely to experience and which told her she was glad that this love would only live long enough to keep its vitality and freshness, with its essence of giving always to the fore. Nothing, she determined, would mar the numbered days of their life together, and with an eagerness to be gone and start that life she had risen from the bank, and after bidding a voiceless, sentimental farewell by kissing her fingers to the lake and to the eel that could, or could not, still be there, she had gone through the opening, to be brought to an abrupt halt at its farther end.
In front of her, through the boles of the trees and half hidden by an outstretched branch, she had seen a figure standing, not that of a man, although it was in breeches…it was the girl from the Manor. And as she watched she saw her move slowly forward. It was something in the way she walked that had made her turn swiftly, and there, where the path turned into the broad walk, stood Mrs Booth and at her side the vicar’s sister. It was the linking of Mrs Booth’s eyes with her own that struck instant terror into her, and she had turned swiftly about to make her retreat by the path to the right, only to find standing there more women, three of them. She didn’t know them, but one thing she recognised, they had on their faces a reflection of the look in Mrs Booth’s eyes, but only a reflection, for if ever she had seen insane hate she had seen it on Mrs Booth’s face.
For a moment she had thought, ‘Don’t panic. Don’t run. What can they do? Nothing…they daren’t do anything. This is…’ And she had been about to give herself the comfort of this day and age when Mrs Booth moved, just a step, and to her step the others added theirs. She’d had the desire to cry out to them then, to ask them why, why were they acting like it, even to plead with them. But her common sense had told her that talking would be worse than useless; Mrs Booth would act first and talk afterwards because she loathed and hated her.
In undisguised panic she had backed into the clearing again until she came to the edge of the bank, and there she stood, all her small strength draining away from her. She had glanced back once at the lake. Even if she had been able to swim she knew her strength would never have carried her across to the other side. And now it came to her that a casual remark to Mr Booth, in his wife’s hearing, that she had never been able to swim had set the seal fixing her death warrant. It was also enabling Mrs Booth to practise the art of suspense.
With her eyes stark wide and her teeth digging into her lip she stood and waited, feeling them every moment moving slowly nearer. As her mind screamed, ‘Peter! Oh Peter!’ she heard a ‘Psst! Psst!’ and the low whistle that followed it brought her stiffened head round. She knew that whistle. And when her eyes alighted on Jimmy astraddle the fallen tree, she turned swiftly and waved frantically to him. Then dropping her arms helplessly to her sides she asked herself, what could he do? She could shout to him, she could scream to him and he could run for help. But wouldn’t he think it was a game she was having? And if she shouted, ‘They’re going to kill me,’ he would think she had gone mad—her mind used Jimmy’s own words for such an occasion, ‘up the pole’. And who wouldn’t think but that she was up the pole should she shout any such thing—this wasn’t the Middle Ages, this was nineteen fifty-nine and people were civilised. They didn’t do things like this—it wouldn’t be till after she was dead that people would know that they still could and did do things like this…Then through her terrified mind it dawned on her that Jimmy was aware of her plight, for he was alternately thumbing the water and beckoning her with wide sweeps of his arm towards himself and the tree.
The tree lay to her right and, it seemed to her petrified gaze, miles away. She had no idea of how deep the water was a few feet away from the bank. She would likely drown if it became so deep that she could not walk through it. But of the choice that lay before her she thought it better now to drown in an attempt to get away than to be mauled about by them, for that would result in death anyway.
She slipped her feet out of her sandals and grabbed them up, then sitting gingerly on the edge of the bank she slid down into the water. It felt cool, almost cold, as it gently embraced her knees, and she shivered but mostly with her fear. And it was fear which thrust her out from the bank and into the water which reached well up to her thighs. As she moved towards the tree her feet began to sink into the soft ooze and drag her steps. But each step took her away from the clearing, and soon she was past it and there was nothing to her right but a high green wall of undergrowth.
Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it might stop. She was gasping and felt she was going to be sick at any moment. Dragging her eyes from the water she looked towards Jimmy. He seemed much nearer now and he was beckoning her with another wide sweep of his arm which spoke of haste. In her fear of getting out of her depth she moved parallel with the bank, and when she was almost opposite the fallen tree the water had receded from her hips to her knees again. But this was no relief, for in order to reach the tree and Jimmy she would have to move now in a straight line towards the middle of the lake, and this spoke to her, not of safety, but of deep water.
‘Come on, come on, miss!’ It was a hissing whisper from Jimmy, and she nodded to him. Then testing each step for foothold, she moved tentatively towards him. But she had not gone more than a yard or so before she realised that the particular fear of deeper water near the middle was well-founded, for already it was round her waist and rising with each move forward. Her dress was floating like a ballet skirt about her; moreover her feet were stumping against submerged branches that threatened to trip her. Then for a space she suddenly rose out of the water as her feet touched a silted bank, damned likely by trees and mud. Praying that this would hold until she reached the tree she edged her way forward once more. And then, not six feet from the first broken, bleached, outstretched branch of the oak, she felt the bottom going rapidly downwards again, and in a few steps the water had risen to her breasts. Her arms outspread on the surface like stiff wings, she became so rigid with her fear that she could move no farther.
‘Come on!’
‘I—I can’t. Ji—Jimmy.’
‘You’ve got to…come on.’ Jimmy hitched himself towards a fork in the head of the tree. He was high above her now, almost looking down on her. ‘Aw, come on, miss. It’s just a little way.’
When he saw her gulp and shake her head he bit on his lip, and his face crumpled as if he might cry.
‘Aw, come on. Grandpop’s waitin’ for you. He’s up the bank.’
There was the sound of tears in his voice, and this caused her to put out a foot but when she did so and it found nothing she hastily withdrew it. Again she tried to the other side. And when the same thing happened her breathing almost stopped.
Jimmy, seeing the fear on her face and knowing she wasn’t going to make it, said helplessly, ‘Aw, miss…miss.’
She looked up at him and cried softly between gasps, ‘Jimmy—I’m—I’m going back. I’ll stay under the bank. Go—go and get Peter.’
‘Aw, miss.’ He could think of nothing else to say, and as Leo, her eyes tight on the water once more and her arms swivelling to help her to turn, took the first step on her return journey there came a churning of the calm water, and the eel, like submerged lightning, flashed round her, catching her with its tail end as if she had been lassoed. The combination of her struggles and its swift, coiling movements flung her face forward, and whether it was the effect of her terror, or the jerk that the eel had given her she found herself with her head above water once more, her feet on a submerged branch and her hands upstretched grasping at another branch just beneath Jimmy’s knee.
‘Eeh, miss! Oh, miss! Eeh! I thought…Oh, come on.’ He was pulling at her.
Spitting out the water, she gasped, ‘All right—I’m all right…Wait.’ She rested a moment, then working her feet along the b
ranch she gradually drew herself out and onto the trunk.
Jimmy now backing swiftly away encouraged, ‘That’s it, miss. Come on. Come on.’ And, like someone hypnotised, she dragged herself along the trunk towards the root.
As Jimmy went to climb down through the roots, he stopped and exclaimed, ‘Don’t turn round, miss. They’ve seen you, miss. They’re all standin’ watchin’…Eeh, no they’re not, they’re goin’. Come on, hurry.’
Spent and gasping for her breath, Leo lay flat on the trunk. ‘I can’t hurry, Jimmy, I can’t. You go on—and—and get Peter.’
After a moment during which he stood and watched her apprehensively she slid down through the roots and sitting with her back against them murmured, ‘I—I must rest, Jimmy.’
‘But Grandpop’s waitin’ for us…just here, miss.’ He pointed up the bank to the bushes.
‘Grandpop? Here? You mean—Old Pop?’ She raised her drooping head.
‘No, miss, Grandpop.’
‘Grandpop?’ she said again. ‘Grandpop?’
‘Yes, miss.’
Her heavy lids stretched; she made an incredulous gesture with her hand; then with an effort she turned on her knees and rose to her feet, and looking at the seemingly impregnable wall of undergrowth she asked, ‘How—how do we get out?’
‘We’ve got to crawl, miss. But it’s only a little way. If you do it on your bell—stomach, it’s easy. Up the badger set.’
‘Show me.’
She bit on her lip as she followed him in her bare feet over the thorn and bramble strewn bank, and then she lay down behind him and slowly dragged herself the few yards to the top and Grandpop.
When her head appeared almost at his feet Grandpop bent down and clutched at her, pulling her to her feet, muttering in a broken voice, ‘Aw, lass! Aw, me dear! Aw, me dear! Aw, the sight of you…For this to happen.’ Then in a growl he cried, ‘I’ll have ’em jailed, so help me, God, every pluddy one of ’em! So help me God, I will!’
‘Oh, Grandad!’ Leo was leaning within the shelter of his trembling arms and gasping with each breath. ‘I’m frightened…so…so…’
‘There now.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Don’t you be frightened of nowt, just do as I say. Go with the lad here. He knows the way to Top Fell Dyke; there’s only one road there from this end and it’s along this path. Go on now. Aw, your poor feet…bleeding.’ He looked down at her feet, and she said, ‘They’re all right. But you—what about you?’
‘You leave this to me. Go on now, as quick as you can, lass, and by the time you get there Joe’ll be along. Blast him, he should be here now. Never could be where he’s wanted, that lad.’
‘Listen!’ She held her head to one side. ‘They’re coming. I can hear them.’ She looked anxiously up at the old man, and he said calmly, ‘Aye, I know. Go on, now.’ He turned to Jimmy. ‘Go on…quick! And when you get clear of the path there’s no need to hurry. If those bitches of hell get by me there’s three lanes beyond and they won’t know which one you’ve gone, even if they get that far, which they pluddy well won’t. Away now.’
Gently he pushed her from him, and Jimmy, holding out his hand, took hers and led her away.
They weren’t out of Grandpop’s sight before he turned and, moving with doddering steps in the opposite direction, went along the path to where it narrowed and bent sharply at the head of the lake. Here he quickly selected a patch of earth which was bordered by a couple of stakes, remnants of a fence which had once guarded the high and dangerous bank above the lake at this point, and lowering himself very, very cautiously down, he took up his position with his back to the stakes, his legs across the path and his stick firmly gripped in his hand.
Their approach was not heralded by their voices, but by their feet which sounded to him like the pounding of horses’ hooves. They came upon him all in a bunch, Mrs Booth and Miss Collins pulling up so rapidly that Mavis and Mrs Fountain were almost knocked backwards.
Miss Collins let out a stifled squeal, for she couldn’t believe what she was seeing: Grandfather Puddleton, who couldn’t walk more than a few yards, here in the woods! And Mrs Booth’s mouth was wider than it had ever been without anything coming out of it. Then snapping it closed, she exclaimed, ‘Good God!’
‘Aye, good God. And you keep the Almighty’s name out of your dirty mouth, Katie Booth, until you’re in court and asked to say, “I speak the truth and nowt but, so help me God”. And you’ll need help, let me tell you, you pluddy mischief-making bitch!’
The taunt lessened somewhat the shock Mrs Booth had received, and she cried, ‘What are you up to here? And you be careful what you say. Get up out of that.’
‘Can’t,’ said Grandpop flatly; ‘legs is give way.’
‘Then move yourself round.’
Mrs Booth was the only one so far who had spoken, for the sight of Grandpop and his implied threat of the police court had, it would seem, returned the others some way to normality. Even Miss Collins backed away a step.
‘If you don’t move I’ll get over you.’
‘You try. Just you try it on, you big slobbery bitch. An’ you see this stick here?’ He brandished the stick up at her, then with not a little glee, he watched her evident wilting and listened to the horrified gasps of her companions as he went into minute details of what explorations he would put his stick to should she attempt her threat.
‘You filthy old swine, you! You should be locked up.’
‘Aye, that’s a matter of opinion, Katie Booth. You should have been locked up years gone for what you was up to.’ Grandpop brought his back from the staves and raised his chin to her. ‘And now tryin’ to kill a bit lass ’cos she has the men about her like flies without raisin’ a finger. You’ve had to do more than raise a finger an’ not get as far as she, hevn’t you? Go on, you as much as lay a finger on me and I’ll crack those big, fat, ugly shanks of yours.’ He flourished his stick wildly at her, then cried, ‘And you there, ’Melia Fountain, shame on you for being in this. Shame on you! And with her—this village whore here—and she after your man. Aye, aye, you was…!’ Now he had to brandish his stick wildly to keep Mrs Booth at bay. ‘Waylaid him you did, at every turn. Couldn’t get rid of you, Bill couldn’t. And then you started on Harry. Come on, come on,’ he challenged her, as she heaved like some great animal over him. Then flashing his attention to where Mrs Armstrong was trying to hide herself behind Miss Collins, he said, ‘And if your man was alive the day Celia Armstrong, he’d tell you a thing or two, an’ all. Ask her about the notes she used to leave in orange box near door. Had him petrified, she had, lest you picked ’em up.’
Grandpop suddenly paused for breath and also because his heart was giving him warning. Much more of this, he told himself, and it would be the finish; he’d better steady up. He leant back against the posts again, but as he did so he kept his steely gaze fixed on the purple, suffused face of Mrs Booth, daring her to make a move nearer.
‘You! You!’ she brought out at last, ‘I’ll have you up. It’s a libel. You dirty…you!’
‘Aye.’ It was a short, sardonical reply which conveyed volumes, and it added to her rage which was so great as to be temporarily suppressing her powers of invective.
Two feet at the back of the group quietly turning round drew Grandpop’s eyes to the assortment of legs and to the polished riding boots, and he exclaimed in a voice full of scorn, ‘Aye, go off quietly, Miss Florrie, it’ll be you what has to face the major. And as long as I’m alive don’t look my way agen. Hear that? Nor put a step inside me door. And the rest of you’d better get along with her. And as for you, Miss Collins’—he paused—‘I told you years ago when you came here you’d better settle in your mind to stick to God, being a little too long in the tooth to harness any lad hereabouts, and place running wild with young heifers at the time. But you wouldn’t listen, an’ you’ve gone sour on yersel. Aye, you can rear your skinny neck, but I’d call in me church and go down on me knees if I was you. So I would!’
&n
bsp; There was a great tiredness on him now and his words were coming slower, and it was with relief that he saw them, without parting shots of any sort, turn one after the other and glide cautiously away as if afraid now of the sound of their own footsteps. All, that was, except Mrs Booth, and she remained, glaring at him as if she would jump on him and tear his flesh apart.
Grandpop was finding that he hadn’t even the strength to outstare her when he heard Joe demanding, ‘What’s up here?’ And never had his son’s voice sounded sweet to him before. ‘What you up to, Katie Booth, you knocked him down?’
Mrs Booth turned her bloodshot eyes on Old Pop, and her spluttering was near idiot jabbering as she cried, ‘Kno—knocked him down! He should be dead…dead and buried alive, and you along of him…all of you, all the Puddletons, all of you. The—the dirty old swine! The—!’ Her lips white with froth, she spluttered in his face. Then like someone drunk she turned and went running along the path, mouthing her venom aloud.
After turning his astonished gaze from the departing figure, Joe exclaimed, ‘God Almighty, save us! How you got here?’ He looked down on his father straddled across the path, and Grandpop, looking scornfully up at him and with only a little punch left in his voice, grunted, ‘Don’t ask pluddy silly questions, I didn’t fly. Where you bin? Never about when you’re wanted. Same all your life. Here, give me a hand up.’
With some effort on both sides Grandpop was on his feet again, but it was evident, even to himself, that he wasn’t the man he had been before he sat down. That do with Katie Booth had took it out of him and no mistake. His legs were like jelly and he was trembling all over, even his voice now. But in spite of this, it still held a ring of authority, and he commanded, ‘Come on, let’s get movin’. If I don’t soon have a drop of hard I’m for it.’
Slinky Jane Page 23
