A Dinner Of Herbs (95 page)

between coughs

speaking unintelligibly, while Mary Ellen was saying, “Oh! this is great news. Oh! ‘tis the best I’ve

heard for many a long year.”

John was smiling and his hand was on Charles’s shoulder and he was saying, “I’m glad

for you, man.

I’m glad for you, and FIorrie.

Ohshemustbeoverthemoon. “

As yet Maggie said nothing, she just stood there. It was as if she had received a blow.

Somehow the

fact that FIorrie, who was married, hadn’t any children had, in a way, been a sort of

comfort, in fact it

had brought them close over the years, closer than they had ever been in their young

days. FIorrie was of

a quiet, placid nature, yet her nerves had suffered badly because she had not been able to give Charles a

child. And now, there she was at this 659 age. carrying a child, and she almost as old as herself, there

was only a year between them.

Hal had stopped coughing and his words were understandable as he croaked, “This calls

for a

celebration, a drink. What is it to be, lad, rum or whisky?”

“Oh, rum, Hal, rum. Although I shouldn’t be taking any more. I made a big detour and

called on Tom

to tell him the news, then made another one to tell Kate. And I’ve toasted the event in both places. Still,

I’ve room for another rum.”

“Aye, well, you have your rum, lad. It’s me for the poker.” He how bent and thrust the poker into the

heart of a blazing fire. Then turning to Maggie, he said, “Draw up some beer, lass.” And on this order

she turned away, no one seeming to notice that she hadn’t added her congratulations to the rest.

In the kitchen, she took down from the delph rack a large pewter jug.

Then going into the cold meat store, she opened the door at the far end and descended the six steep

steps into the cellar. And there she turned the tap of the hogshead that stood on a wooden cradle, and

when the froth came to the top of the jug, she turned back the wooden peg.

Then placing the jug on a rude wooden bench, she looked up to where a grating in the

corner of the

room let in some fading daylight. And then she said two words aloud, the meaning

known only to herself,

“That’s it!” she said; then repeated them, “That’s it!”

Back in the sitting-room that was full of chatter now, she filled the pewter mug from the jug and handed

it to her father. He did not thank her, but —immediately turned to the fire and, taking the red-hot poker,

he thrust it into the middle of the mug, being careful not to let the hot iron touch the bottom. And when

the sizzling stopped, he pushed the poker back into the fire. Then turning, he lifted the mug, saying,

“Here’s to a healthy son, lad.”

“Oh, I don’t mind son or daughter, either will please me.”

“Oh, you want a son; we want some breeders in the family. Tom has only got one. It

would appear that

my lot are poor breeders. Four men and only one son among them.”

It was noticeable that he didn’t mention Kate’s two sons. But Charles’s three large rums in the last hour

seemingly having loosened his usual cautious and tactful tongue, he said, “Oh, there’s Kate’s two, and

both bright sparks, one a little brighter than the other if all the tales are true. Tom laughed his head off

about what happened at the weekend.”

“What did happen at the week-end?” Hal was smiling. But John’s face became straight

and Mary

Ellen’s full of concern. And Maggie, knowing what was coming, endeavoured to signal

Charles from

behind her father’s chair. But Charles was too happy to notice and so he went on, “Twas in the market

on Saturday. Young Frag had apparently made the acquaintance of the Reillys and the

four Smith lads.

You know the ones from Allendale that work in the lead mines beyond. They’re bits of

hell raisers. No

harm in them. But it was the day of the pays and they got the youngster blind and pushed him back on a

barrow right into the yard.”

“Couldn’t be Frag, Charles’—Mary Ellen’s voice was stiff—’they were all here on

Sunday.”

“Oh, well, he’d had plenty of time to sober up by then I suppose.

Well, I must be off. Florrie wanted to come, but she’s got a little cold on her and I

wouldn’t let her

move. “ He turned now and for the first time addressed Maggie, saying, “ Can you

understand how I

feel, Maggie? “

Her voice was quiet as she said, “Yes, Charles. I can, very well. Tell Florrie it’s

wonderful. Tell her I’ll

come over on Saturday.”

“I will. I will, my dear. She’s always pleased to see you. It gets a bit lonely out there for her

sometimes. But now she’ll never be lonely again. Oh!” He drew in a deep breath and

buttoned up his

coat before turning and picking up his hat; then going to where Hal was sitting in the chair, quiet now, he

took his hand and said, “I’m pleased for myself and her, but I’m also pleased for you and all the family.”

“That’s as it should be, lad. That’s as it should be. Bring her over soon.”

“I will. I will. The first fine day I will. Goodbye, Mam.” He had turned to Mary Ellen, and she took his

hand and said, “Goodbye, Charles. I’ll come over with Maggie on Saturday.”

“I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her.”

He went out accompanied by John, and they could hear his voice, as he crossed the hall, high with

laughter.

But the door had hardly closed on them when Hal, bringing the poker from the fire, thrust it into a fresh

mug of ale, saying as he did so, “That young bugger, brought home on a barrow by that

tribe, the Smiths

and the Reillys. God, could he get any lower? And there he was on Sunday, butter not

melting in his

mouth.

“Twasn’t noticeable that he hardly said a word. No, he would be suffering from a thick head. But she

made him come, or Ben did. I tell you, woman, something’ll happen to that boy, as sure as I’m sitting

here something’ll happen to him.

He’s got a curse on him. “

“Stop it! Stop it this minute! Never mind what he’s got on him, what you’ve got on you is another cold,

and if you don’t want some days in bed you’ll stay put the morrow.” Then turning to

Maggie, she said,

“That was good news in a way don’t you think?—but not so good in others.”

“Why not so good in others, Mam?”

“Well, at her age. She’ll find it hard to pull through.”

“Mrs. Pratt, in the cottage over in the dip, they say she was forty-five when she had her last two years

ago.”

“Aye, but she’d had plenty of practice; eleven living and half-a-dozen dead, by all

accounts. Firsts are

dangerous in any case, I should know. That is when you’re young, but at that age ...

well’—she sighed

‘we’ll just have to wait and see.... Had you got the tea-tray ready?”

“Yes.”

“Well, bring it in.”

Maggie went slowly from the room, slowly across the hall, and slowly down the kitchen, and she stood

looking down at the heavily laden tray before lifting it and carrying it into the sitting-room. When she

placed it on the table before her mother and was turning to go out, her mother said,

“Aren’t you going to

stay and have a cup and a bite?”

“No, not on top of hot rum.”

She returned to the kitchen and there, taking the jar that stood on the cupboard under the delph rack,

she scooped out a spoonful of pork fat, put it into a small cup and, lifting aside her apron, she placed it in

the pocket of her skirt. Then she went out of the kitchen again and quickly upstairs and made her way to

the far end of the corridor.

Here, she turned down a narrow passage, passed a side door that led to a store room, and finally came

to another door with two bolts, one top, and one bottom. They were both black iron, one showing slight

rust spots from lack of use. Quickly she withdrew the bolts and rubbed fat in the slots, worked the bolts

backwards and forwards two or three times until their passage made no sound, then

wiped them clean,

and returned to the kitchen. She emptied the remains of the fat into the slop bucket,

washed out the cup

and replaced it on the dresser. Then she went to the fireplace where, her arms

outstretched, she gripped

the brass rod underneath the mantelpiece and, drooping her head forward, she rested it on one arm,

while her teeth clamped down tight on the sleeve of her dress as though she meant to bite through it.

Mary Ellen had been in bed this past hour. More mulled beer and hot rum during the

evening had

induced early sleep, and Hal’s snores could be heard on the landing. John, too, had gone upstairs a

while ago, for he too had drunk more than was usual for him.

Maggie took up the lamp and left the kitchen. When she reached the landing she placed it on a small

oak table and turned down the wick to a mere glimmer, then went into her room.

After lighting her candle she took from the wardrobe a thick coat and a pair of overshoes, and, from a

drawer, the biggest head-shawl she had.

Having put on the coat and shawl, and with the overshoes in her hand, she made quietly for the door

which she had left slightly ajar; out on the landing she drew it after her but not closed.

She then tiptoed

over the polished boards to where a narrow rug ran down the middle, and on this she

walked, being

careful to avoid the part where a floor-board creaked. When she reached the door leading to the back

stairs she withdrew the greased bolts. And now she was standing on a narrow wooden

platform, the

cold night frost cutting into her face like a razor. The sky was high and laden with stars, but there was no

moon. She got quickly into her overshoes, then gripped the iron rail and went down the wooden stairs

and so into the yard at the back of the house.

When one of the dogs growled she whispered quickly, “All right, Cass, all right, ‘tis me.

Lie down.”

And she went towards the kennel where the two dogs were housed. Cass was standing

outside and she

put her hand on his head and spoke to him again, then pushed him back into the warmth

of the straw

where his mate, Bessie, lay, too old now to bother about night noises.

In blackness, she groped her way along the back of the barn wall, but once clear of it the night seemed

to become lighter. At one point there was a squeal and a scurry round her feet as she

inadvertently

walked into a chase. She wondered if she had saved the pursued or not, or whether that was its death

cry? Nature was cruel. The whole world was cruel.

When she came in sight of the cottage there was no light in the window. He generally

stayed up late

reading, at least so he said. But she was looking on to the front of it;

he might be in the back room and she wouldn’t be able to see his candle-light from here.

She was within two feet of the door when she stopped and put her hand tightly over her mouth. Her

hand was dead cold, her face was cold, she was shivering from head to toe. She was mad, this was

awful. But what other solution was there? He couldn’t come to her.

Did he want to? She had to find out, even if she was shamed to death in the so doing. And if she was

shamed, what then? Oh, God! God! She didn’t know. Finish it perhaps. Aye, yes. And it

wasn’t the

first time she’d thought of that. She couldn’t go back, she couldn’t. Her hand went out towards the

door. She heard a distant cough and it seemed to smother her gentle tap. She waited, and when nothing

happened she knocked again, harder this time. She heard movement in the room; then the door was

pulled open, and there he stood, in a long flannel nightshirt, the brass candle-stick held head high, the

flame guttering in the night air.

“In the name of God!” He thrust out his hand and pulled her into the room. Then closing the door

quickly, he tugged her towards the banked-down fire. He said nothing more; nor did she speak until he

had taken the glass from the lamp and lit the wick from the candle, replaced the glass, turned up the

wick, then looked at her where she was standing visibly shivering. He did not say, “What is the matter?

Why have you come? “ but he took her hand and pressed her down into the wooden

chair;

then dropping onto his knees, he took up the bellows and blew vigorously on the fire.

The fire which had not been long banked down flared up and added its light to the room.

Still on his

knees, he now swung round and caught her cold hands.

“Oh! Maggie,” he said.

“I had to come.” Each word was uttered on a tremor.

“I ... I had to know wh ... wh ... where I stood.”

“Oh, rhy dear, my dear, dear Maggie.” He now dropped his head onto her hands and

pressed them

over his face. Then looking up at her again, he said, “You know where you stand with

me, always have

done. I love you, you know that, you must know it, but what chance have I...1

mean, what could I offer you? Even if I had dared to ask, a place not much bigger than this’—he rolled

his head taking in the room ‘and a small holding somewhere, all pokey. You’ve been

brought up

ladylike. “

At this her whole body moved in protest and she muttered, “Ladylike, Willy? Ladylike?

Don’t be silly,

man. Since Kate and Florrie left I’ve had to work like three bonded women. Two outfits a year and a

money present at Christmas and my birthday. Do you know how much I possess for all