‘Oh, there’ll be a moon.’ It wasn’t Constance who had answered but Sarah. She had turned from the sink and, her face bright and smiling, she nodded at them and repeated, ‘There’ll be a moon tonight, sure there’ll be a moon.’
‘Ah! The oracle has spoken.’ Michael raised his hand and his voice was solemn as he went on, ‘Listen…listen all ye present, listen to the voice of the sage…and onions.’
As he and his grandmother laughed Constance asked, ‘How can you be sure, Sarah? There was mist last night.’
‘The sky this mornin’, the way the sun came up while the moon was still showing.’
‘Is that a sign?’ asked Constance.
It was Jane Radlet now who replied as she threw a potato into the pan with a plop. ‘Oh aye, it’s a sign; she’s right.’ She exchanged a smile with Sarah. ‘Of course, it’s to do with the way the moon was lying at the beginning of the month, it had to be lying on its back if there were to be three full nights clear at the end.’
Constance did not question the truth or otherwise of the forecast, for she had been proved wrong on similar points so many times before.
Michael rose from the table, saying ‘Well, I’m off.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m going with Jim to the top fields.’
‘Oh no, you’re not!’ Constance checked him with lifted hand. ‘They’ll be here within half an hour.’
‘Well, I’ll see them coming even before you do, and I’ll scamper back.’
‘But you should be dressed…changed.’
‘Why? We’re going to see the hill racing, aren’t we? We’ll all be up to our eyes in mud after the rain these last few days, if I know anything.’
‘That doesn’t matter; you should be dressed to meet them, especially as you haven’t met them before.’
‘Are you going to change?’
‘Of course.’
‘And you, Grannie?’ He lifted his head in Jane Radlet’s direction, and Jane, laughing loudly said, ‘Not me, lad, not me; they take me as they find me.’
‘And what about Sarah, has she got to change?’ He looked toward the small girl, and she turned her head over her shoulder and laughed at him, while Constance answered for her, ‘Sarah’s going with Jim to the games.’
Michael gave an exaggerated sigh and was about to resume his seat when Constance said, ‘Now don’t sit down again, there’s no time to dawdle. Come, I’m going up too.’ She stretched out her hand and caught him by the ear, and he pretended to cringe and yelled, ‘Oh!…oh!…oh!’ and they all laughed.
When Constance and Michael had left the room, Jane beckoned Sarah to her and in a conspiratorial whisper said, ‘Go on…over home, hinny, and make yourself tidy. Put your best hair ribbons on, and your clean pinny, and show the gentry what a bonny lass you are.’
The bright smile left Sarah’s face and she said quietly, ‘Dad says I’ve to keep out of the way once they come, and Uncle Jimmy’s takin’ me straight off to the games.’
The old woman and the child looked at each other and knowledge of the situation was exchanged in their glance. ‘Aw well then,’ said Jane; ‘go on then and enjoy yourself.’
‘Yes, yes I will.’ Sarah turned away, her face still unsmiling, and made to go back to the sink, but Jane said, ‘Leave them be, I’ll finish them; go on now,’ and the child went out.
The kitchen to herself, Jane stopped peeling the potatoes and through the window she watched the small girl dashing across the yard, and when she was gone from her sight she muttered, ‘All because that one’s coming.’ And as if picking up Constance’s thoughts, hers said: Everything old Mallen bred was tainted. Hadn’t she herself proof of it? The result of Mallen’s raping her when she was a girl had been her son Donald, and what had he turned out to be? A devil, yes a devil if ever there was one, and he had proved it when he wed the lass just gone upstairs there, for he had led her a hell of a life before he was…her mind shied away from the word murdered and substituted destroyed, which seemed less terrible to her.
And what of Mallen’s last raping? That Barbara too had the devil in her, and a temper like a fiend, and she hated young Sarah because Michael made much of her. It was a great pity she hadn’t been struck dumb as well as deaf.
It was at this point that her thinking proved Constance wrong, for she muttered aloud, ‘I’d sooner see him alone to the end of his days than take up with that one across the hills.’
The trap driven by Miss Brigmore was first to come through the gateless gap in the stone wall. Seated opposite her was Mary Peel; they had the vehicle to themselves. Close behind came the wagonette; it was driven by Yates, the coachman, and seated behind him were John and Daniel Bensham, Katie Bensham, and Barbara.
As they alighted they were each greeted by Constance and Michael, who were standing outside the front door of the farmhouse.
‘How nice to see you. How are you, dear?’
Constance and Miss Brigmore exchanged kisses.
‘And you, Barbara?’ Constance and Barbara exchanged kisses, light touches on the cheek these. And then the introductions were made.
‘Miss Katie Bensham…Mrs Radlet.’
‘How do you do, ma’am?’
‘How do you do?’
‘Mr John Bensham…Mrs Radlet.’
‘How do you do, ma’am?
‘How do you do?’
‘Mr Dan Bensham…Mrs Radlet.’
‘How do you do, ma’am?’
‘How do you do?’
The same process was repeated but with Michael this time; then Constance led the way into the house, through the hall, not so dark now because of another window that had been added to it, and into the drawing room.
‘Do please be seated.’ Constance spread her arm wide, and when they had taken chairs there fell on them an awkward silence, until it was broken by a high laugh from Barbara, which both startled and annoyed Miss Brigmore but which brought answering smiles from the younger folk when she said, ‘It’s funny, we all look ridiculous, everybody sitting like waxworks.’
Katie began to laugh and the boys to grin widely; then Michael, who had been standing near Barbara, leaned toward her and, mouthing his words, he said, ‘Trust you, Madam, to break eggs with a mallet,’ and as her hand went out to slap him Miss Brigmore said sharply, ‘Barbara!’ But Barbara was not looking at Miss Brigmore so didn’t see her speak, and so she slapped Michael and went on, ‘We had a wonderful time coming across; we laughed all the way, didn’t we, Dan?’
Daniel Bensham, fifteen years old, was of small stature but inclined to be thickset. His hair was sandy; his eyes, a deep blue, had a keenness to them; his nose was rather broad at the nostrils and his mouth was large. He had no claim whatsoever to good looks, yet there was something arresting about his face. He did not answer Barbara except by making a moue with his mouth, for his attention was taken up by the company, by the lady of the house in particular; the lady who had once lived in the Hall and who, he imagined, had expected to go on living there for ever. How had she felt when she was turfed out? Barbara said she was seven at the time; she must still remember. And then there was the son. This was the one that Barbara was always talking about, and he could see the reason, a mythological god here, a son of Olympus. Yet he didn’t look as if he had much spunk; he had the look of Ripon about him. Ripon was in the Upper House; he looked in a daze most of the time and was always spouting poetry; he had been up before the Head this term for wearing fancy collars; he had copied Byron’s dress from a picture hanging in his room. And yet for all his dreaminess they said he was a flogger, and because of him some of the boys were afraid to be sent up. He, himself, wasn’t afraid; let him start any of his flogging antics on him and he’d kick him in the teeth. By God! yes; then he’d walk out. And his dad would support him. He already felt a deep animosity toward Ripon, and he could toward this fair fellow too.
‘Dan, what are you staring at, you look all eyes and teeth?’
Dan turned his gaze from
Michael on to Barbara, and he laughed with her as he said, ‘Well, I am all eyes and teeth.’ Then, turning, he smiled at his hostess; and she smiled back at him as she thought, What a nice boy! And such a nice voice. They appeared to be nice children, and all well-spoken. As usual, Anna had done a good job on the girl, and the public school had certainly left its stamp on the boys and erased the vernacular inheritance of their parents, which, from what she could gather from Anna, remained deplorable.
She looked from the sandy-haired boy to the taller red-headed one and said, ‘I see you have come suitably dressed for the walk. It’s a good three miles across the moors and very rough terrain in parts. Have you been to the hill races before?’
‘No, ma’am.’ John shook his head. ‘It may seem strange, but we’ve never been this side of the range before. It was lovely coming over, wonderful scenery. And you’re in a beautiful valley here. The country appears much softer this side. Over home it’s harsh…’ he finished lamely, colouring a little as he too remembered that this woman had once lived ‘over home’. It was all rather embarrassing. He was sorry that he had let Barbara persuade them to come; but then once Barbara got her teeth into anything you might as well give up. He looked now from this beautiful woman to Barbara. There wasn’t a vestige of resemblance between them, yet there was a strong blood tie. He again concentrated his gaze on Constance. She’d kept her elegance and style even if she had been running a farm for years. This, he supposed, was what they meant by breeding.
Katie was also looking at Constance, and she was thinking, She keeps smiling all the time, but she looks sad.
‘Excuse me a moment.’ Constance cast her glance over the visitors, adding, ‘You must have a little refreshment before you start on your…arduous journey, and I would also like you to meet my mother-in-law, Mrs Radlet.’
As she turned toward the door it opened and Jane entered. She glanced quickly at the assembled company; then putting her face close to Constance, she whispered, ‘There’s a gentleman called. He wants to see you; he’s in the yard on horseback.’
Constance almost repeated aloud, ‘A gentleman on horseback?’ Traps, carts, brakes, her visitors usually used one or the other of these vehicles, and if one came on horseback he was likely a farmer. She knew Jane well enough to know that she would not give this title to any of the farmers from hereabouts, she would have announced him with ‘It’s Armstrong,’ or ‘Him over from Alston way,’ or ‘Bradley from Nenthead,’ but she had said, ‘A gentleman.’
When she reached the kitchen door she stopped and stared at the man standing at the horse’s head, and before she had time to prevent it her mouth dropped into a wide gape. Pat Ferrier—her heart lifted—Pat Ferrier who had at one time been a regular visitor to the cottage along with Will Headley; Will, who had courted her, then discarded her practically overnight for a young lady of wealth. It was on the day after she had learned of Will’s desertion that Donald Radlet had proposed to her. How fate took advantage of the emotions.
And young Pat, he’d had an affection for her too, but she had laughed at him and treated him like a young boy. But here he was, and no longer young Pat, but a man, a handsome man.
‘Pat! Pat!’
Pat Ferrier turned sharply toward her, then came forward with outstretched hands, and gripped hers. ‘Constance! Ah! Constance. How good to see you!’
‘Come; come in.’ She was hanging on to his hand. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you had gone to live abroad permanently; the last I heard of you, you were in Austria.’
‘Oh, that was three years ago. I’ve been in London for the past year.’
‘You have? Oh! Come through.’ She led the way out of the kitchen, then stopped in the hallway. Her hand to her cheek now, she laughed as she said, ‘This is a day of surprises; I have three visitors from the Hall.’
‘The hall…you mean?’
She nodded quickly, ‘Yes, High Banks; the children of the present owner. Barbara brought them.’
‘Barbara? I thought…’
‘Her daughter.’
‘Oh, her daughter. I see.’
‘You’re not in a hurry, are you? Would you care to come and meet them? They’ll be leaving shortly, they’re going to see the games, and then we can talk…Oh! Pat.’ She grabbed at his hands again. ‘It’s lovely to see you; it just makes me happy to look at you.’
‘I should have said that.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She lowered her eyes in a mock-modest fashion. ‘I forgot myself, sir.’
At this they both laughed and as they walked toward the drawing room door, he said, ‘But I can endorse it a thousandfold.’ Then after a pause he added, ‘You’ve changed, Connie.’
‘Yes, time doesn’t stand still.’
‘You’re more beautiful.’
‘If I remember rightly, Pat, you always did say the correct thing.’ She opened the door and ushered him in, and the whole company turned and looked toward him.
Miss Brigmore recognised him instantly, although he had been but a boy when she had last seen him. She remembered he had married quite young, but it had turned out to be a tragic affair, his bride having died within three months of the ceremony. This had driven him abroad, and there he had remained for years. They had heard of him now and again through Mr Patrick Ferrier senior when on the rare occasions he called at the cottage. And now here he was. Had he married again? Or was he still a widower? Why should he have sought out Constance? But why not?
They were old friends. Dear, dear; her mind was in a whirl. Now wouldn’t it be wonderful if…
She was shaking his outstretched hand, saying, ‘I recognised you immediately.’
‘And me you. You’re like Constance, you haven’t altered one iota.’
‘I’ve told him,’ Constance put in now, ‘that he always did say the right thing. You remember, Anna, you used to say “That young man is correct in everything.” But isn’t it lovely? And what a surprising day! Now let me introduce you.’
As Miss Brigmore watched Constance, her face alight, making the introductions she thought, Indeed! Indeed, what a surprising day!
Everyone was in accord; it had been an exciting, happy, wonderful day. If anyone had enjoyed it more than another it was Barbara, for she’d had Michael to herself most of the time, at least while they were out. He had taken her hand and pulled her up gullies, he had caught her when she jumped from high banks, and she had felt so proud of him as he showed off his knowledge of country lore to the others: pointing out a badger’s set, taking them to see an otter’s slide, showing them the tracks of a weasel. She had noted that John got on very well with Michael, but that Dan had talked to him hardly at all. But then Dan had moods; and when he did talk he was inclined to be argumentative.
She herself had been charming to everyone; it was so easy when there was no-one to irritate her. She hadn’t set eyes on Sarah Waite since they had come into the farmyard. She didn’t know where she was or what had happened to her and she didn’t care; she only knew that life on the farm was wonderful when that girl wasn’t there.
And the day wasn’t quite over yet; but she knew it would end for her once she stepped up into the trap, or the wagonette; it would likely be the trap, but that didn’t matter, she had no great longing to ride with the boys. But she had a longing, amounting to a craving, to dance with Michael once again, and alone, dance with him with no-one else there, feeling him whirling her around in a polka. They’d all been dancing a Roger de Coverley in the drawing room. Katie had played the piano and her Aunt Constance had danced with Mr Ferrier and she had looked quite gay, acting almost as though she were a girl again—skittish was the term Brigie would use when describing someone old acting like someone young. Yet Brigie, too, had danced. At first she had thought she would die laughing when she saw Brigie dancing, yet she guided Dan through all the steps and was light on her feet.
But oh, she wanted to dance with Michael alone. Oh! she did, she did.
The room was full of ch
atter, noise, and laughter. Mrs Radlet was handing round bowls of hot broth to support them on the journey, for it was already turning chilly and the full moon tonight would likely shine on an early frost. Her eyes strayed for a moment from Michael to where Katie was laughing with Mr Ferrier. He was moving his hands and describing something to her; it looked as if he were showing her how he toppled from a horse. She thought she could hear the high note of Katie’s laughter when she turned her eyes back to Michael, or to the spot where Michael had been; but now he was going into the hall.
Her thoughts galloped as she searched for an excuse to follow him…Her handkerchief, there was mud on it, where she had wiped some spots from her face splashed up by a horse’s hooves. She went hastily toward Constance where she was talking with John and said, ‘Do you think you could lend me a clean handkerchief, Aunt Constance? Look—’ she drew the dirty handkerchief from her pocket and explained laughingly how it had come to be in such a soiled condition.
‘Of course, of course, I’ll get you one.’
‘No, no, let me.’
Constance was about to affirm that she would go and get the handkerchief when Pat Ferrier came to her side, bringing Katie with him and saying, ‘This young lady tells me she doesn’t ride, she hadn’t a horse; now can you understand that?’
Constance looked at him and laughed; then turning fully to Barbara again, she said slowly, ‘You’ll find some in the right-hand top drawer of the dressing table in my room, the small drawer.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Constance.’ Before she finished speaking she turned and was about to rush away when Miss Brigmore’s hand came out and stopped her. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To get a handkerchief; Aunt Constance said I may go up to her room and get a handkerchief.’
‘Oh, very well. But don’t be long because we’re almost ready to go. And when you come down collect your cloak and bonnet from the other room.’
‘Yes, Brigie. Yes.’
The Mallen Girl Page 6
