‘A lodger in me da’s house. Me da goes to sea, and the woman that he took on as housekeeper took this lodger in.’
‘Had he attempted…to…to molest her?’
‘Something like it, but…but I got her away in time, at least’—she paused—‘I thought I had. Yet she swears that he never touched her. Well, as I said to her, if he didn’t somebody else has.’
They were peering at each other now in the dim wintry light of the hall; then, as he had done last night, he turned from her and walked away without speaking further.
A short while ago she hadn’t known how she was going to face him about last night’s business; now that was seemingly forgotten. After all, what was it? A little incident at the end of a bit of jollification. She even thought now that, having taken so much wine, she had exaggerated it all. Things appeared different when you were drunk…and she had been drunk; oh yes, she had been drunk. But as she said before, it would never happen again.
She went into the kitchen and, not finding Lucy there, she went in search of her. She found her in the byres, and she wasn’t alone; Abbie was with her. She hadn’t known he was back, he had said he never came in on a New Year’s Day, and it was evident to her straight away that Lucy had cried out her trouble to him for, straightening his bent back as far as possible, he looked at Emily as he nodded his head slowly, saying, ‘Aye, aye, another nice kettle of fish. It seems the mistress tore the clothes off her back. Now why would she do that, eh?’
‘Go back into the house, our Lucy.’ She thrust her arms out and pointed towards the open doorway, and Lucy, her head down, and running again, went past her and across the yard. From the open doorway she watched her disappear through the archway before turning to Abbie and saying, ‘I don’t know why the mistress wanted to tear the clothes off her back ’cos if she is going to have a bairn it’s nobody’s business but hers and mine…Nobody’s!’ She emphasised the last word with an upward jerk of her chin.
‘No, you’re right there, lass, you’re right there, except you’re leavin’ out the one that did it. And I’ll tell you this, lass. Some folks can be nice an’ normal like, quite decent for nine tenths of themselves, but the last bit, the tenth bit has only to touch a woman, or a young lass, as your sister is, an’ then something happens to them. They can’t help it, it’s in their nature, I’m not blamin’ them, but nevertheless it’s a fact.’
She stared at the old man for a moment before saying grimly, ‘Well, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, Abbie. Con wouldn’t touch her, not that way; I’d swear me life on it. An’ anyway, it would have had to have happened straight away when we first came here, an’ it couldn’t have else she’d have told me.’ But would she? She was beginning to think she didn’t know their Lucy.
The old man half turned away, put his head on one side, and looked towards the ground as he muttered, ‘And I would have said I was barkin’ up the wrong tree an’ all at one time, lass, but young Bella Goodyear in the village, she swears by the Lord above it was Con. And I’m only tellin’ you what’s common knowledge, lass, so work it out for yourself. And it could have happened straight away and the bairn was too scared to say anything.’ On this he walked along by the row of cows, thumping one after the other on the rump, then went on into the dairy, leaving Emily standing with her hands doubled into fists and pressed between her breasts.
‘’Tweren’t me, Emily, ‘tweren’t me.’ Con stood before Emily, his back pressed against the kitchen table, his hands gripping the edge of it, and there was moisture in his eyes and tears in his voice as he repeated, ‘’Tweren’t me. I…I couldn’t. And…and Lucy. I…like Lucy, but ’tweren’t me.’ He bowed his head now and there came over in his voice an untold sadness as he ended quietly, ‘Not me, Emily…not me.’
‘All right, Con, I believe you.’
He lifted his head slowly and he looked at her like the child he was inside, and the tears filled his eyes as he muttered, ‘Thank…thank you…Emily.’ Then bringing himself from the support of the table, he said, ‘You…won’t go…away, will you?’
‘I don’t know, Con; we mightn’t be able to stay.’
‘Larry won’t…won’t…send you away, never…never.’
No, he mightn’t; but she might, her up there, that vicious woman. And she was vicious, because after all, no matter what Lucy had done, she had no right to tear the clothes off her back. There had been a battle upstairs a short while ago, in which she had even outdone the master in her yelling.
When she now saw the tears raining down the young fellow’s face she went to him and, taking his hand and patting it, she said, ‘There now. There now. Don’t worry any more. Things’ll take their course, either one way or another. Come on, cheer up. Come on now, stop cryin’. It’s still New Year’s Day. Never say die…’
Why in the name of God had she to come out with that saying, never say die, when, at this minute, she wouldn’t care if she were to drop down dead, because she was tired both in body and mind. This house was far too much for one to run, because Lucy, understandably now, had become less of a help these past few weeks. And she was tired in her mind, tired of thinking of Sep and what might have been, tired of worrying about Lucy’s complaint—well, she had two complaints to worry about now, hadn’t she?—tired of the feeling that pervaded this house, the feeling that frightened her in a strange way, so much so that at times she felt she was becoming like that Chrissey and imagining things.
As she set about her work again she came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t matter if she did get the push, it might be the best thing that could happen to her, to them both.
Seven
The following Monday morning at eleven o’clock, when the doctor called to see Rona Birch he also had a look at Larry’s wrist, which he had strained while lifting a sack of grain. His whole hand and part of his forearm was swollen.
Always when the doctor had finished his visit to the bedroom he would go into the library where a tray would be set for him and the master, with coffee and sandwiches, special sandwiches, bread cut paper thin with sliced pickles on the ham, not mustard. And this morning the pattern was the same except that instead of the doctor going straight into the library when he came downstairs he came into the kitchen, accompanied by Larry, and there he spoke to Emily. ‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Good morning, doctor.’ She bent her knee slightly to him because doctors were quality, like people who lived in halls and manors.
‘How is your sister’s cough?’ he asked her, and she replied, ‘About the same, doctor.’
The doctor now put his leather bag on the table and, holding the handles in both hands, he leant over it and said, ‘Your master thinks that it would do no harm if I were to examine your sister, her chest, et cetera.’
She looked from one to the other. Her master was staring at her, unblinking. She knew it was he who had put this suggestion into the doctor’s head because the doctor had been in the house every week since she had come here and had never before bothered about Lucy’s chest. She knew what et cetera meant. Well, perhaps it was the best thing after all; it would settle the question whether she was or she wasn’t, for she was still maintaining that nobody had touched her. Either she was becoming a barefaced little liar or…She couldn’t explain the or to herself, she only knew that bairns didn’t get inside you on their own, they had to be put there.
She said now, ‘I’ll get her.’
‘Thank you, Emily. Bring her into—’ The doctor now looked towards Larry who said, ‘The library.’
‘Yes, yes, the library.’ The doctor nodded. ‘There’s a couch in there.’
A few minutes later she was pushing Lucy towards the library door, saying, ‘It’s all right, stop shakin’; he only wants to examine your chest.’
After knocking on the library door she opened it and pressed Lucy forward and the doctor said kindly, ‘Ah, there you are, Lucy. Come and sit down here and we’ll have a little talk.’ He now turned his head to the side, sa
ying, ‘You needn’t stay, you can get on with your work, Emily. I’ll call you if I need you.’
Emily hesitated for a moment before turning and going slowly out of the room. But she didn’t go further than the closed door, she didn’t think it was right, her not being able to stay and the master in there an’ all, it wasn’t decent. She could hear the doctor talking but not what he was saying. For a time there was silence; then he was talking again. And now she actually jumped back from the doorway as it was pulled open and her master stood there looking at her and smiling. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Come in.’
When she entered the room she saw Lucy sitting on a chair, and she, too, was smiling, a thin, watery smile, and now the doctor was speaking pointedly to her herself, saying, ‘Your sister is not pregnant, Emily, she has a stomach complaint, or rather her stomach is distended because of the congestion in her duodenum.’ He shook his head at the blank expression on her face, then laughed as he said, ‘In a way, you know, you’re to blame, for I suppose you’ve been packing good food into her, pork, bacon, sausages, the like.’
‘Yes, sir. But she never seems hungry.’
‘It’s understandable; a sick person never wants food, and in her case food is her trouble. Now in future, she is to have no fat whatever, at any rate not for some weeks. All her food must be dry.’ He now turned his head towards Lucy and said, ‘You won’t like it. I can assure you, you won’t like it, but it’s for your own good.’
Lucy nodded at him and said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and continued to smile at him as he went on, ‘Dry bread or toast, not new; boiled potatoes; no roasts; a bit of chicken or rabbit; no pork or bacon; what little fat you need you get in the milk.’ He turned towards Emily again, saying, ‘And not too much of that either at first until her stomach is settled. She’ll need a purge to scour her out, then nothing to eat for twenty-four hours; following that, dry toast or dry bread. And’—he nodded again at Lucy—‘chew it. Chew everything well…There you are then, go along with you. And be good girls.’
They went out of the room, but even when in the hall they didn’t speak, they just looked at each other. Not until they reached the kitchen did Emily turn to Lucy and, taking her gently by the shoulders, bend down to her and said, ‘Eeh! I’m sorry, Lucy. I am. I am.’
‘It’s all right, Emily, only I knew…I knew I hadn’t been touched.’
Emily now bowed her head and bit on her lip and closed her eyes tight to press back the tears as she said again, ‘Oh, I am sorry. I should have known; I should have believed you; I should have remembered years ago you were always sick when you ate fat.’ Now, with an endearing gesture, she pulled Lucy tightly into her arms and said, ‘I’ll get you better, your stomach and your cough and everything. I will. I will, Lucy.’ And Lucy, looking up at her, said, ‘I know you will, Emily, I know you will.’ And the burden that such trust laid on her seemed as light as a feather now.
It was some ten minutes later when Larry came into the kitchen. He was smiling broadly and he looked from one to the other as he exclaimed, ‘Well then! that’s all straightened out. Feel better, Lucy?’
‘Yes, sir. Oh yes, sir.’
‘And you, Emily?’
She bowed her head for a moment as she murmured, ‘I feel a bit sick meself, but it’s with relief.’
He gave her an understanding nod as he turned towards the door, but before going out he looked over his shoulder and said, ‘The doctor’s left a purge; she’d better take it right away. And another thing. I know it’s your half-day today but would you mind going in with Con to the market? There’s quite a bit of stuff needs to be delivered. I wouldn’t be able to drive with my hand. Anyway, I’ve…I’ve got to be here today, I’m expecting someone. Moreover, I think it would do Con good to have a jaunt; he’s been down these past few days. I suppose you’ve noticed?’
‘Aye, yes, I have.’ And she answered his somewhat accusing glance by adding, ‘Well, you can relieve his mind now, can’t you?’
Eeh! She shouldn’t have said it like that. She shouldn’t talk to him like that. It was as if she had no respect for him.
His face was stiff as he answered, ‘Yes, as you say, it will relieve his mind. I can also give the news to Abbie, but I doubt it will relieve his mind because there’s very little spice in truth.’
When the door banged she gnawed at her lip. He was right there, there was very little spice in truth, and Abbie seemed to enjoy spice. She turned to Lucy now, saying, ‘I’ll go and get the medicine for you, and you’d better do as he says and take it now. But it means you won’t be able to come with us, in case you’re taken short.’
‘I don’t mind that, Emily; I don’t mind nothin’ as long as I’m made better.’
She nodded at Lucy as she said, ‘That’s sensible.’ Then looking up towards the ceiling, she said, ‘There’s one thing I’m going to enjoy, and it’s tellin’ her she was wrong. And I’m not going to put it off either.’ And with this she rolled down her sleeves, buttoned her cuffs, pulled the bib of her apron straight, adjusted her mob cap and marched from the room.
Con was like a schoolboy who had been given a day’s unexpected holiday. And as he took the reins in his hands preparatory to moving off, Larry, who was standing by the small flat cart and with his good hand fingering the rope that lashed the cover over two boxes of straw-layered eggs, a tub of butter and a similar one of cheese, looked up at Emily and said, ‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t see Winters, give the stuff to his wife, and tell her she can settle up with me next week.’ Then he ended, ‘You’ve got the list all right?’
Emily nodded, saying, ‘Yes…yes.’
‘Well, get going then.’
Walking beside the moving horse, Larry finally cautioned Con: ‘And do what I told you, keep clear of the quarry road. He’s nervous of that part, it takes me all my time.’
‘All…right, Larry. I…I won’t go by…the quarry, never…never fear.’ He gave a toss of his head as if he were in full control of any possible emergency that the horse might create. Then he guided the animal from the farmyard, through the arch, across the courtyard, out onto the drive and then onto the coach road, and there he cried, ‘Gee up! Gee up!…Lady,’ and they went bowling along the road towards the village.
The sky was low and promised rain. There was a stillness in the air like that which precedes a thunderstorm, but it was a biting cold stillness and, as Emily told herself, they didn’t usually have thunderstorms in January, but she hoped they reached the town before the rain came.
Looking at the distant hills she guessed there was little hope of that. But what did it matter? She felt happy, light, sort of free. And she had good right to be, hadn’t she? Poor Lucy; them all thinking she was going to have a bairn when all the time it was just stomach trouble…She’d buy her something when she was in the town. What did she like? She loved liquorice sticks and tiger nuts. Yes, she’d buy her some; and also two ribbons for her hair and perhaps a hairslide. Yes, she would love a hairslide.
Oooh! She let out a long-drawn relaxing breath. It was good to be alive and sitting here riding high up behind the horse with Con who looked so happy, as happy as she did about Lucy. And he had never come back at her with, ‘I told you it wasn’t me.’ Poor Con. She glanced at him. Just because of some little twist in his make-up he’d never be a real man, always a young lad…a boy. It seemed such a pity because he had a lovely face, and a lovely nature. She had a feeling for Con, a sort of love for him. Eeh! Fancy her thinking that. But…well, that was the only name she could put to it. As she stared at him she wished she was his mother and could look after him all his days. And she knew this much; whoever looked after him would keep young too, because there was a kind of light morning spirit about him.
She raised her eyebrows at herself and her head went to one side. Fancy her thinking like that. She was getting something out of reading Sep’s little black book, and it was the right description for Con, because there was a light morning spirit about him.
She
turned her attention to the road. They were entering the village now and there in the distance, outside the blacksmith’s shop, she could see a group of people, and as they drew nearer she recognised Mr Goodyear, the blacksmith. He was standing near a man who was holding a horse, but he was talking to a smaller man and wagging his finger at him as he spoke, and the smaller man was nodding at him. There were two women in the group, both wearing shawls; one woman had hers over her head, the other just round her shoulders.
Emily saw that it was the bareheaded woman who nudged the blacksmith and pointed towards them. And then all five people stood silently watching their approach. Simultaneously, Emily became aware of two things, the hostility emanating from the faces looking at them and the sudden spasm of nervousness that had attacked Con.
It was as the dray passed them that the bare-headed woman ran forward and, grabbing the side of the cart, yelled up at Con, ‘She had it. She had it last night. D’you hear me, you thick-skulled idiot? And not so much of the idiot, are you? Well, you’ll have to pay; an’ by God! I’ll see you do. Both you an’ him.’
‘We…won’t. I didn’t.’
Even Emily was startled by Con’s sudden retaliation, for his usual reaction to any accusation was tears. But now, pushing the reins into one hand, his other shot out in the direction of the woman and although his fingers weren’t within two feet of her the gesture brought a roar from her and she cried at him, ‘You bugger! You would, would you?’ A matter of seconds later a good-sized stone scraped Con’s ear and bounded off the horse’s flank, setting it into a gallop, and as Emily clung on to the iron rail that edged the seat, in some panic she thought it was just as well the stone had stirred the horse for, glancing back, she could see that the men had run some way along the road after them.
They were almost a mile beyond the village when Con pulled the horse to a halt. Gasping now and his head bobbing and the tears once more in his eyes, he turned to her and said, ‘I didn’t, Emily. I didn’t.’
The Tide of Life Page 21
