A Dinner Of Herbs (73 page)

dour Tom always seems to know the time she’ll be passin’. I’ve noted that.”

“May Turner?” He pulled a face.

“Oh, well, he could do worse, couldn’t he? Her dad, so I understand, tried to get his foot in the Coultas

Dodsworth Company when they opened at Haydon Bridge Iron Works in forty-three.

And his brother’s

got one of those nice little villas up on the hill above the village. He’s in good company there with Mr.

Bewick, who’s now got a lease on the Langley Barony Lead Mines. Oh, my! yes, our

Tom’s goin’ to be

in good company if he captures May or May captures him. Well, whichever way it goes

he could get his

saddles free an’ all, because hasn’t one of her uncle’s got that fine saddler’s place in Hexham? and he’s

got neither kith nor kin as I understand it, and she being the only child an’ all.”

“By! you know your history, Hal Roystan.” Mary Ellen stood looking down at him, her

arms folded

across her waist.

“You wouldn’t care who any of them married as long as there was money in it, would

you?”

“Oh, no.” He nodded at her.

“You’re right there: I don’t care a damn for any of them, it’s the dowries I’m after an’ the discount I

could get off wares if me son marries into families that make saddles an’ the like.”

“Aw! You.” Mary Ellen turned away, and Hal, laughing now, said, “What about our

John? Isn’t he

set?”

“Yes, he’s thinking of joining the ministry; they’re looking for lay preachers for the Nonconformists’

Chapel. He could rise to be a circuit minister. You never know.”

At this, both Kate and Hal burst out laughing, for not one of them, nothing, could get John to church or

chapel under any pretext. But as Mary Ellen walked down the room, Hal called after her, between short

coughs, “Stranger things have happened. Conversion ... fear of hell or seeing the light.”

And Mary

Ellen’s voice came back at him saying, “True true.”

When the door closed on her, he looked at Kate and said, quietly now, “We said all that in a joke, but

as I see it, anything could happen in this life. Like your miracle you spoke of a few weeks ago.”

“Yes.” She nodded at him.

“Yes, like my miracle. Well, when he comes tomorrow, listen to him, will you. Dad?”

“Aye, I will. As long as what he says tends to your happiness, I’ll listen to him. Aye, I’ll listen to him.”

The weather had changed: there had been high winds and rain squalls all night and for

most of the

morning; the rain had now ceased, but the wind was still high. And Kate, walking along the road to meet

Ben, had to hold down her skirt with one hand, while holding her bonnet on with the

other.

No one had passed any remark when she dressed for outdoors and stated her intention of meeting Ben

on the road, however much her riding across the moors to meet a man was hitting

convention with a

hammer.

Had either Maggie or Florrie suggested doing something similar, Mary Ellen would have

said, “Oh, no

you don’t. And a day like this! Let them come to you. Men don’t appreciate such

eagerness.” With

Kate it had been different from the beginning. And yet she would have agreed with her

mother’s view

that nothing about this courtship was conventional.

She was about a third of a mile along the road when she espied Ben, and, so it seemed, he her, for at

that moment from a trot he put his horse into a gallop. But as he drew his horse to a

skidding stop she

moved quickly across the road and jumped the ditch on the far side, and laughing, she

cried, “I’ll send a

complaint to the justice about your riding; ‘tis a danger to man and beast.”

He dismounted, then held out his hands to help her back across the ditch, and having

done so, he put his

arms about her, and she hers about him, and they kissed passionately. Then, his arm still about her

shoulder, he took the horse’s bridle, saying, “Court-room all ready?”

“Yes; and judge in the chair.” Then looking up into his face she said, Thank you, Ben. “

“Oh, my dear.” He lowered his head towards her again and, pushing his face under the

rim of her

bonnet, he kissed her temple, saying now, “Never thank me for anything, my dear. Leave that to me,

because I shall never cease to thank you for just being you.”

She remained silent. What could she say? Because at times she could hardly believe him when he

talked like this. And more often than not he talked like this, telling her how wonderful she was, when all

the while inside herself she still felt inadequate, plain, and ungainly.

But perhaps not quite so much now. In order to come up to what she imagined was his

idea, and ideal

of her, she had of late practised the spinet a little every day, and had read more, even to the extent of

taking less sleep in order to do so. And now she could discuss with him not only her

hearsay knowledge

of the authors of books, but the substance of what they were writing. The conversation she held with him

would, she knew, sound as foreign to her family as he himself already did to them: not one of them

accepted him as one of themselves, not even John, and John liked him, and this fact

pained her. Charles

was the only person who seemed to understand him and the whole situation. But then,

Charles had been

brought up in an atmosphere different from that surrounding the members of her family.

Not that they hadn’t all been brought up well: they all had their wits about them, and they could read and

write, which wasn’t usual with all farmers’ families. Yet still, their outlook was limited, as hers had been,

too, until she met up with this man.

They were nearing the gate when Ben, looking ahead, said quietly, “I never enter this

place but I feel I’m

here under false pretences, and every time your father looks me straight in the eye I want to tell him the

truth and damn the consequences because, whatever the consequences, you are with me.”

He pressed

her arm hard against his side, saying reassuringly now, “Yes, I know, I know,

we’ve agreed. And this new plan . well, if it is at all possible, will put some distance between us and

him. And we’ve agreed on that too, haven’t we? “

She nodded, murmuring, “Yes, yes.”

“Well, into battle!”

They were now walking across the farmyard, and Hugh was coming to meet them.

“Hello there,” he said.

“Weather changing. How are you?” And he held out his hand to Ben who, taking it,

answered, “Fine,

thank you. And you?”

“Never better.”

Hugh had met Kate’s intended only once before, but Kate felt she could leave them

together and make

her way towards the kitchen.

Taking the reins from Ben, Hugh said, “Give him here, I’ll see to him,” then leaned

towards Ben and

muttered, “I hear you are to go before the judge, the court’s in session.” And Ben burst out laughing

saying, “That’s funny. I was saying something similar to Kate as we came along.”

“Hope you’ve got your case all worked out. Don’t worry; his bark’s worse than his bite, only .. you

know.” His face lost its smile and became serious.

“We all love Kate, but he most of all. And ... and he’s only thinking of her. Twas

unfortunate you

picked on that neck of the woods as a habitation to set up in. Still, you weren’t to know.

Anyway, I’ll be with you in a minute, I’ll just take him along to Terry,” Consciously

now, Ben squared

his shoulders as he too walked towards the door that was now being held open for him by Maggie.

Before crossing the threshold he took off his hat and he was stroking his hair back from his forehead as

he passed her. Unsmiling, she looked up into his face as he said, “Good-day, Maggie.”

He hardly heard her response but he heard her close the door with a bang. Maggie didn’t like him, and

being a man he knew the reason: to use an expression he had heard used in the inn, she would have set

her cap at him without any encouragement, and with just a little of it she would have

fallen into his arms.

He had summed up Maggie’s nature from the first: she was vain and could be spiteful,

but being very

pretty, as she undoubtedly was, she imagined that covered all her defects. She could be a hussy, could

Maggie.

After he had greeted Annie, whose manner as always was welcoming, she said, “Go on

through, they’re

all in the sitting-room. Kate’s taking off her things. Why she wanted to go out in a wind like this I don’t

know. Blow the hairs off a pig’s back, it would.”

He smiled at her, then went up the kitchen and into the hall, where he was met by Mary Ellen.

Holding out her hand, she said, “Glad to see you again, Ben,” and he, taking her hand, said, “And I, you,

Mrs. Roystan. Definitely I, you.”

That was one thing, Mary Ellen told herself, she :

couldn’t get used to about him: when he paid a compliment, he nearly always stressed it by repeating it.

Fanciful, she termed it.

“The others are in the sitting room,” she said, ‘but Hal is in the office.

Would you like to go and have a natter with him? “

“Yes, yes, of course.” ;

She led the way across the hall, along the passage | towards the study door, which she opened, saying

loudly, | “Here’s Ben, Hal. Thought he would just have a natter ‘, afore tea. All right?” I

“Yes, all right,

all right. Come in. Come along in.” Although still croaky, Hal’s voice was hearty, and Ben went in and,

extending his hand towards Hal who was sitting to the side of the fireplace, said, “How do I find you

today, sir?”

“Better. Oh, much better. Back in the yard the morrow, even if I’ve got to shoot me way out.”

He laughed, and Ben laughed with him.

“Sit yourself down, lad. Sit yourself down.”

Ben sat down in the chair Hal indicated, which was directly opposite to his own, and Hal began by

saying, “Weather’s changing. Blowin’ a gale all night. How’s it up your way?”

“It was pretty bad during the night, brought a slate off. And’—he smiled ‘that’s the first one that’s

moved since I’ve been here.”

Hal turned his head away and sighed as he now said, “Can’t understand you, lad, can’t

understand you.

But then.... Well now’—he looked at Ben again ‘since we’re on about houses, I might as well tell you, it

was a mighty shock to me when I heard you had bought that place.”

“So I understand, sir.”

“You know what happened to me there. Kate has told you all about it so you can guess

within a little

how I feel about letting her go to live there. All right, all right’—he put up his hand as if Ben had made

some protest ‘it’s a fine enough place, none better for miles, for it wasn’t built as a farmhouse but as a

gentleman’s residence. And that’s what it was for years until the devil took a hand in picking who should

go in. Anyway, you understand my feelings?”

“I do, indeed. I do, indeed. And therefore, Kate and I have decided to look for another house, but as

I’m committed to this with the builders, I shall see it renovated and the land around

cleaned up so it will

be more attractive for a sale.”

“Aye, well, I can see your point there, but you’ll get no one to stay there long, lad.

There’s a curse on

the place, and it will never be lifted, for those that wrought it were evil.” He leant towards Ben now,

saying, “You look pea ky the day, a bit white about the gills, and winter’ll soon be on us; you want to get

yourself down from there afore the frosts come. Have you seen any place you fancy?”

“No, not yet. Well, not quite. But I have seen a little house to rent beyond Langley, in the direction of

Bardon Mill. Although it, too, is somewhat isolated, it is in a sheltered spot.”

“On the way to Bardon Mill, you say, sheltered? I know the very place.

Butterfield Cottage is the name of it, isn’t it? “

“Yes, yes, that’s it.”

“Well now, you’re being sensible, ‘tis a nice little place. I know who owned it at one time, ‘twas sister

of Mr. Ellison, and he was undersheriff of the county just a year gone. Oh, you can’t go wrong there.

Anyway, I’m glad that’s settled.” He rose to his feet now, as, too, did Ben, and extending his arm, Hal

placed his hand on Ben’s shoulder, saying, “You’ve eased me mind, lad, because it was

Kate I was

thinkin’ about. She’s very dear to me, is that lass, and I couldn’t bear to think of her startin’ life in a

place so tainted with badness. Why, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, man. It would be as if the Bannamans

themselves had come back. But come on now, they’ll be waitin’, and you look as if you

could do with

something inside you.”

It was later remarked among the family that Kate’s man had had little to say all evening, not like the first

time he had sat at the table, and the change was put down to the fact that likely their father had lathered

into him, and, as they all too well knew, that could be a numbing experience.

It was the middle of December and already there had been two falls of snow, bringing

forth predictions

from old hands of a very bad winter.

And when the wild duck settled early on Langley dam and on the pool above the smelting mill, the bleak

outlook seemed assured.

The early fall of snow had worried Kate a little for Ben was still living up in the

shepherd’s hut. He had