THE CINDER PATH (15 page)

it? Was it his weakness that challenged her strength? Yet it was a strange weakness, for it wasn't gutless.

There was a time when she had imagined he was gutless; that was until the day she had glimpsed a fighting light

in his eyes when he witnessed Josh flogging his horse

for having thrown him and so causing him to lose a

race. The winning of the race would have meant little

to Josh, for what was a race at a fair but

an opportunity to enter everything from a donkey to a

stallion, and to have a good laugh at the assortment; but the losing of it on a thoroughbred meant a lot, and this she'd had to point out rather forcibly to Charlie to prevent him from going for Josh.

But did she really want him? Yes, yes, she

wanted him; and she was going to have him, for she saw him as her last chance of becoming independent and getting

away from this

house. No one would believe her if she said that her

main aim in life was to depart this place where her mother ruled supreme. And she herself would not believe

anyone who told her that she was jealous of her mother

caret jealous of her looks, of her popularity, of

her capabilities, and, most of all, of her power

over her husband.

She had always admitted to herself that her home was

divided in affection. She had her father's love

while Nellie had her mother's; but her mother also had

her husband's love and herein lay the core of her

jealousy. But she had made herself blind to it. What she wanted she told herself was a home of her own, a

place in which she would be called mistress; and, it

definitely had to be a house with stabling attached,

and Moor Burn had the best facilities

in that line for miles around. Of course there was

Madam MacFell, but she would deal with her when the

time came.

Over the past months she had decided that Charlie

must be brought up to scratch. It had become

imperative that she should have him. Archie Whitaker had dropped from her horizon, he had even got himself

engaged, and Josh . . . Josh had made it plain

he was in

no position to marry for years. Being the youngest of four sons was the excuse he put forward. She had been

openly careless where Josh Pringle was concerned and had got herself talked about. She knew that her name now was such that she could not hope to find a husband in her own class for miles around. She admitted to herself that she had been foolish, too free, but there was that craving

inside her that demanded release. All during her

teens her body had burned for this release, so much so

that at times it frightened her. were all women like this, she wondered. Archie Whitaker had told her they

weren't, and that she was out of this world. She marvelled now why she hadn't fallen pregnant in those first two

months; after that she had made sure she wouldn't.

Now Archie Whitaker was gone, and Josh Pringle

was becoming less available. She stilled the

voice inside herself which said she had been too much for him. Now there was only Charlie to fall back on,

and up till a few minutes ago she thought she had

lost this chance too. That little bitch! She shuddered as she thought of her sister and of what she might have done to her last night if her father hadn't pulled her hands away from the plump

throat. Afterwards she had managed to control her rage

until the last guest had gone, but then she had

allowed the storm to break, and by God! it had been a

storm. Six ornaments she had smashed, a piece

of Worcester, two pieces of Doulton, and her

mother's treasured group of Dresden figures; that was

before she pounced on Nellie.

And this morning she'd sworn to her father that she'd

never rest until she'd done her sister a serious

mischief. Then five minutes ago the little bitch

had walked jauntily into the dining-room and

proclaimed it had all been a joke. They had

both been drank, she said, and she had no more intention of marrying Charlie than she had of marrying Josh

Pringle.

She had made a small motion with her head as she

mentioned Josh's name, and the motion had indicated the extent of the little bitch's knowledge as much as if she had shouted it aloud.

Well, now things had come to a head, and she must

slacken the bit. She must alter her tactics.

She started by walking slowly towards him and putting

out her hand and picking a piece of straw from the side of his coat collar.

"They always say you should take more water with it."

He looked at her in slight amazement for a

moment. She wasn't furious, in fact she was

looking amused, kindly amused.

He drooped his head and, grinning, said, "You're

right there, Victoria; I'd better get some

practice in at holding me drink."

"Well, don't start on Father's special, a

couple of glasses of that would knock a

prizefighter over. . . . That little monkey, she

wants her ears boxed."

He looked at her from under his lids. "You heard

about the result of it, I suppose?" He now

gave his head a shake. "Of course you have."

"The proposal?" She made herself laugh. "Oh yes, I heard about the proposal. It's a good

job it wasn't one of the Stacey girls you were

drinking with."

Now they both laughed together, for the title

"girls" was a jocular courtesy given to the

forty-five year old spinster twins, who were as

hefty as their father, the blacksmith. Then their

laughter dying away, Victoria turned to the side

and, her voice low and flat now, she said, "I...

I have to confess though I was a little startled last night when

they all came in babbling about it." She turned her head on her shoulder and looked at him. "I couldn't believe my ears. I ... I didn't want

to believe my ears."

"I'm sorry, Victoria."

"You . . . you don't care for Nellie, do you?"

"Oh no, no"-his words came rapidly now

com"...n that way. Why, she's still a little girl. Somehow, I couldn't think of her in that way."

"You're sure?" She still had her head turned

towards him.

"Of course. Well, you should know that."

"I ... I thought I did." She walked away

from him now to the distant corner of the barn to where some sacks of grain stood in a row against the timbers, and

she kicked against one with the toe of her shoe; her head was down, her hands hanging limply by her sides.

He watched her for a few seconds before

moving towards her. Putting his hand lightly on her

arm, he turned her towards him and, looking into her

face, he said, "You believe me, don't you?"

She paused a moment, then nodded at him and said,

"Yes; yes, Charlie, I believe you."

"But it's true, I mean when I said I'd never

thought of her in that way."

Their heads were almost on a level. She stared

into his eyes before she asked quietly, "Have you thought of me in that way, Charlie?"

His lids blinked rapidly, he swallowed,

stretched his chin out of his collar, then said, "Yes .

. . yes, I have, Victoria."

She now lowered her gaze and directed it towards

the sacks of grain as she asked, "Would you have

proposed to me if there hadn't been two years between

us?"

Dear God! His head was aching, splitting, his

mouth tasted like a midden. What must he say? What

could he say? He said, "Yes, yes, I

suppose I would, Victoria."

She turned to him, smiling quietly, and, putting

out her hand, she gripped his. "You'll be twenty in a few months' time and I'll be still twenty-one, at

least for a few days; the difference won't

seem so much then, will it?"

He smiled back at her, made a small

motion with his head and said, "No; no, it won't

Victoria."

"Will you ask me then?"

"Yes; I'll ask you then." As he spoke he

had a great desire to laugh, to let forth that bellow that he so rarely gave vent to. Here he was, the

quiet, shy, retiring fellow, because that was how he was looked upon by those who thought well of him; anyway,

here he was proposing to two sisters within a matter of hours.

"What are you finding so funny?" She was smiling at him.

He bit tightly on his lip, wagged his head from

side to side and screwed up his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them they were glistening as if with tears and he said, "I ... I was just imagining what would

happen if I went into the house and said . . .

well, if I said I'd proposed to you ... to two

of you in a matter of hours."

She put her hand over her mouth now as if to still her

own laughter, and with the other hand she gripped his as she whispered, "Well, now that would really cause a

sensation, wouldn't it? The gay Lothario would

have nothing on you. Charlie-was She checked her

laughter, and he checked his, too, as she looked

at him and said softly, "This must be a secret between us for the next few months, eh?"

"Yes, Victoria; just as you say."

"What about your twentieth birthday?"

"That'll be fine."

She went to take his arm; then withdrew her hand,

saying, "We... we must be careful, mustn't we?

Circumspect." She pushed him playfully now.

"Go into the house and get cleaned up and have something to eat, and look contrite." She tapped his cheek.

"You're a very bad boy. You know that, Charlie? You got drunk on father's best brandy, you were almost

accused of seducing his younger daughter, and you've started a rumour around the countryside that's got to be

denied. Go on, do your penance, you're a very bad

boy."

He went from her laughing, but the laughter faded

away before he had crossed the yard.

You're a very bad boy, a very bad boy. She had

talked to him as if he were ten years younger than her, not two. You're a very bad boy. Would he ever be a

man, man enough to manage her?

r I 1HE

I him

JL Brit

caret * caret HE bloody Kaiser, he was

a maniac, him and his little Willie. What had the

British ever done to him? Nowt, nowt, said the

ordinary man, but be too soft with the buggers, let them live in this country, feed on the fat of the land, make money out of the poor with their fancy pork shops all

over the place. We were too soft, that's what we

were, live and let live we always said. But we'd

show them now. By God! we would. We'd teach them a

lesson they'd never forget. Join up we will in our

thousands. England must be saved from hooligans like that, maniacs, barbarians. We were a civilized people:

couldn't you remain at school beyond the age of

thirteen? didn't the old receive a pension when they were no longer able to do their bit at seventy? The

Liberals were spending money like water in making things better for the sick and needy, and now that bloody

maniac goes and starts a war! Well, the

Geordies would soon settle his hash. By God!

they would. Just let them get at him; they'd

give him some stick for what he was doing to the

poor Belgians.

And they did get at him. Those who weren't already

in the Territorials or Special Reservists

volunteered to go across there and "wipe the buggers off the map".

The Northerner is not just patriotic, he is

enthusiastic with it, especially when he's got drink

in him, and it must be said that a number of volunteers woke up with thick heads and asked themselves what the

hell they were doing lying on the floor among this mob, and when a voice bellowed over them they told the owner of it where he could go to, only to be brought to their feet with boots in their backsides. Didn't they

know where they was? Well, Corporal Smith,

Jones or Robinson was here to tell them where they

was, they was in the flaming army, that's where they was.

And they could take their choice of the Third, Fourth,

Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, Eighth, or Ninth

Battalion of the Durham Light Infantry.

They could have the pick of any battalion they wanted

to join and Colonel Cardiff would be entertaining them

all together the night. . . . Move! Move! Get

a move on! Look slippy!

Most of the first batch of volunteers from

the North-East were pit lads, and they

didn't take kindly to orders. As for discipline,

there was no need for that kind of thing that they could see; all they wanted to do was to get across the water and fight those bloody Germans.

"You'll meet "em soon enough, but in the meantime get that bloody shovel in yer hand and dig that

trench."

"What here, in South Shields, Corporal?"

"Yes. Ever heard of coastal defences?"

"An5 you! you're for the cookhouse."

"An" you the latrines."

"An' you! it's guard for you."

"Bugger me!"

"I will when I get time. . . . Move!"

Arthur Benton was about the only one in his

platoon who didn't question an order in those first

days. He had been used to taking orders all his

life, different kinds of orders, orders that old

MacFell had kicked into him, and the polite orders

that Charlie had given him; and perhaps he was the only one in his particular section who had been sober when

he enlisted.

To Arthur the war had come as a godsend, a means