A Night in Cold Harbour

by Margaret Kennedy

  ‘He’s weeping,’ announced Hannah. ‘Oh, the kind gentleman!’

  ‘I expect you are right,’ said Romilly, without looking round. ‘He chose his own friends, and would wish to die amongst them. You spoke of a cart?’

  ‘Away down the hill,’ said Jemmy, pointing.

  Ptolemy, catching sight of the carriage standing by the hut, had scented trouble and halted. He was coming no further up the hill until he knew more.

  ‘But his family,’ said Romilly, rising from his knees, ‘must be told of it. They must have news and proof of his death. You seem to be a sensible man. Go down to that fellow with the cart … what’s his name? Where does he come from …?’

  ‘Boswell, sir. He comes from Dulverton.’

  ‘Tell him I shall drive over to Dulverton later today, and stay there until … desire him to send me word where …’

  ‘His family!’ Dickie broke in. ‘Much they care. They were for putting him into a Bedlam.’

  ‘Be quiet, Dickie. This is no business of yours.’

  ‘Nor of yours neither. None ever cared for him but Miss Jenny, and she’s gone. She …’

  Dickie broke off, checked by the look Romilly had given him.

  ‘Yes. She’s gone. That’s why I’m here, you know. She wrote me a letter desiring me to seek you out.’

  ‘Miss Jenny? Miss Jenny did? When?’

  ‘A letter given to me after she died. I set off at once to find you, but you’d already run off. I could never get word of you till now. I have her letter with me. You may read it if you like.’

  ‘Miss Jenny! And she bid you own to me?’

  ‘No. But she thought that I should set right any wrong that might have come to you through me.’

  ‘You can never do that.’

  ‘She thought that I could. What she thought should be attended to. Don’t you think so?’

  ‘It never was. They treated her as if she was nobody. They never minded what she thought.’

  ‘Did you?’

  After a pause Dickie shook his head.

  ‘No. Not always.’

  ‘You could now. Nothing can be forced on you, of course. You are old enough to choose your own life. But if there is any trade or profession … some kind of life which you could wish for yourself … I think she would tell you not to refuse my help in the matter. That was what she suggested in her letter.’

  Dickie hesitated, frowned and said sharply:

  ‘Not now. That must have been all of five years gone. Too late now.’

  So much had been clear to Romilly the moment they met. He had intended to forgo those fanciful schemes for adopting the child with which he had once consoled himself. He would stick to Jenny’s sensible advice. But five lawless years had left their mark. He could not imagine that Broadwood’s, or any respectable firm, would make much of Dickie now. Yet to abandon him without an effort was impossible.

  ‘Is there nothing … nothing you want to do, to be?’ he said urgently. ‘Save play the fiddle at fairs?’

  This got him a grim smile.

  Sweet Jesus! thought Jemmy, who had been listening with close attention. For two pins the young donkey would come out with his gilliteen. If he don’t fish up the word so quick as he did last night it’s because he thinks the gentleman will laugh at him.

  Mockery was, indeed, the thing which Dickie most feared at the moment. If he could but say that he wished to play the fiddle at fairs for the rest of his life, he might be left in peace. But he had a notion that he owed the truth to somebody, although he could not have said to whom. At last he got out, a little breathlessly:

  ‘If I could, I’d put down the tyrants.’

  And cursed himself for the childish sound of it, and waited for his enemy to laugh.

  Romilly did not laugh. His face grew grim and hard as he strove to quench the flame which had flickered up in his heart. No, no, he told himself. No more nonsense. A chance word! The boy was merely repeating something he had heard said.

  ‘That’s a creditable ambition,’ he commented coldly. ‘Which tyrants in particular?’

  Grimness suited Dickie, who spoke up more firmly.

  ‘The gentry. And the lords and the judges and the parsons. What are they but tyrants, even though they mean well? They set themselves up to rule us. I’d have none rule us save men of our own choosing.’

  ‘You think you’d choose better?’

  ‘Maybe not. But we shan’t be full men till we do.’

  ‘And how do you mean to set about it?’

  ‘Get poor people to hang together as close as the gentry do. Once we do that we may call the tune, for they can’t fare without us and they know it.’

  ‘And who has put that idea into your head?’

  Dickie looked surprised.

  ‘It must be in anybody’s head that has thought for five minutes.’

  ‘Perhaps. But to think for five minutes is hard work. I should …’

  My duty, remembered Romilly, checking himself. What is my duty to the boy? If he really wants to think, put him in the way of thinking? And leave him to think for himself?

  ‘You can do nothing of that sort,’ he said, ‘without long and arduous preparation. Moses was able to deliver his people from Pharaoh because he submitted to be brought up in Pharaoh’s house. And, even so, his own people gave him a great deal more trouble than the Egyptians ever did.’

  Having delivered this comment he turned away and strolled off for a little, telling himself sternly that he must build no hopes on the boy, never regard him as an Object.

  ‘You can’t chop logic with a gentleman,’ said Jemmy to Dickie. ‘He’s winded you, I believe.’

  ‘He’s setting a trap for me,’ said Dickie.

  ‘To be sure he is. Shivering in his shoes. You’re a lion broke out from the circus, and he’s seeking for to pare your claws.’

  ‘He knows better than to laugh at me.’

  ‘If you was like to be any danger to him and his you’d have asked him for a new fiddle and held your tongue.’

  Romilly came back to them and Dickie turned on him at once.

  ‘If you think you’ll stop my mouth with your schooling … Is that what you’re after? You’ll get me to go with you … thinking to win me over …’

  ‘I should probably do so very easily,’ said Romilly coldly. ‘Moses could have remained in the house of Pharaoh and had a mighty pleasant life of it. When the time came, he went into the wilderness. But there an’t many men of that mettle.’

  Dickie flushed at the imputation and was not soothed when Romilly added hastily:

  ‘Not that I blame you. I blame myself for taking you seriously. For God’s sake let’s drop it. Is there nothing else you can think of? Consider of it. This is not the time to …’

  He turned again to the gaunt form lying in the heather and drew in his breath sharply. The old man’s eyes were open. He seemed to be conscious of his surroundings. Romilly and Dickie fell on their knees on either side of him. A faint whisper came to them:

  ‘Romilly … dear boy …’

  ‘Sir …’ cried Romilly, seizing his hand. ‘Oh, sir …’

  ‘You’ve come … for Dickie? God bless you! A great load off … what should become of him? A good boy. A son to me … a very fine man if … you may be proud … Dickie!’

  His left hand moved feebly, and Dickie took it.

  ‘Go with him, Dickie. Bear with … his ignorance. No greater than yours … tell him what you know … ask him …’

  They waited, linked by his ebbing life, but heard no more save a long sigh and:

  ‘Patience … patience …’

  His eyes closed and the grasp on their hands slackened. Jemmy, who had been standing close by, turned away and made a significant gesture to Hannah.

  ‘He said some holy words, I believe,’ hazarded Hannah. ‘Now he’ll go.’

  ‘He’s gone. But they don’t know it yet.’

  ‘Gone?’ Hannah nodded and immediately supplied
the conventional comment:

  ‘Gone. His time comes and he must go like another. Parson Purchiss is no more.’

  ‘Get off and tell Ptolemy to bring the cart.’

  ‘He said for you to go.’

  ‘Get off and don’t chatter. He’ll pay you well.’

  She went down the hill reluctantly, for she would have liked to see what Dickie and the Gaujo did next. Had they risen and danced a jig she would not have been surprised.

  Jemmy, who understood a little of what had passed, also wanted to see the end of it. He was aware that the decision must lie with Dickie, who might, if he chose, drive off with the gentleman and never know hunger again. That they were father and son was plain enough. There was some physical resemblance, but that was nothing to the likeness in tone, stance and gesture. And a handsome pair they would be, thought Jemmy, so soon as the boy had been got into better toggery.

  But he was not sure now how he himself would choose, were he in Dickie’s shoes. It was not, as he dimly perceived, a matter of guineas, a soft bed, and plenty to eat. Some stern and arduous task was involved, viewed by both with reluctant hesitation, and offering no pleasure or profit to anybody, so far as he could understand. Dickie might have hoped for a gayer life, if shorter, on the High Toby.

  Hannah had got to the bottom of the hill before either of them stirred. It was Romilly who said at last:

  ‘We can do nothing more for him now.’

  He broke the link which had for a few minutes fused three lives. He crossed the thin old arms on the breast. Then he lifted his eyes to this young creature preserved and confided to him by Jenny’s love.

  Neither time, nor wrong, nor death could quench that love. He knew that he had it still, and that it would dwell on him to the end of his days, as it dwelt upon Dickie. With humility, but with sudden confidence, he held out his hand. Dickie took it.

  Within an hour all were gone. The gypsies had taken the cart south to Dulverton. Father and son drove north to Porlock. Jemmy trudged east to meet the people who waited for word from Mother Squires. Cold Harbour was left silent and deserted until evening, when others came, passed a night in their lives there, and were gone in the morning. Now the hut is gone too: nothing remains save a few stones lying in the heather.

  THE HISTORY OF VINTAGE

  The famous American publisher Alfred A. Knopf (1892–1984) founded Vintage Books in the United States in 1954 as a paperback home for the authors published by his company. Vintage was launched in the United Kingdom in 1990 and works independently from the American imprint although both are part of the international publishing group, Random House.

  Vintage in the United Kingdom was initially created to publish paperback editions of books bought by the prestigious literary hardback imprints in the Random House Group such as Jonathan Cape, Chatto & Windus, Hutchinson and later William Heinemann, Secker & Warburg and The Harvill Press. There are many Booker and Nobel Prize-winning authors on the Vintage list and the imprint publishes a huge variety of fiction and non-fiction. Over the years Vintage has expanded and the list now includes great authors of the past – who are published under the Vintage Classics imprint – as well as many of the most influential authors of the present. In 2012 Vintage Children’s Classics was launched to include the much-loved authors of our youth.

  For a full list of the books Vintage publishes, please visit our website

  www.vintage-books.co.uk

  For book details and other information about the classic authors we publish, please visit the Vintage Classics website

  www.vintage-classics.info

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781473513075

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Published by Vintage 2014

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Copyright © Margaret Kennedy 1960

  Margaret Kennedy has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  First published in Great Britain by Macmillan & Co in 1960

  Vintage

  Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

  London SW1V 2SA

  www.vintage-classics.info

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9780099595489

  www.vintage-classics.info

  Visit www.worldofstories.co.uk for all your favourite children’s classics