A Dinner Of Herbs (12 page)

“Oh, then when you know her name, we’ll know all about her, because Catton isn’t the

back of

beyond.”

“It’s far enough away from people to mind their own business.”

He had never spoken to her like that before and they were both aware of it. And he turned from her and

went into the scullery and, taking up a pail of water, he emptied half of it into a tin dish before dragging

off his shirt and singlet. And he washed himself, thinking as he did so, I shouldn’t have spoken to her like

that. What’s come over me? And somewhere in the back of his mind he got the answer.

Love had

come over him, and for the first time in his life he was finding it an overpowering

emotion, and

bewildering, because he had never imagined that a man could feel this way. Oh aye, want to take a

woman. And he had; unknown to Kate, he’d had a go two or three times in Hexham.

That’s really where his money had gone, not on his drawing paper as he had made out.

But what he

was feeling now was different. Not that he didn’t want to hold this perfect being that had come into his

life and to love her in a way that a man loved a woman. But there was something more

that he could not

as yet understand. It was, in a way, he considered, a silly feeling, because he felt that it would be a kind

of sacrilege to deface her virginity, she was so beautiful. Yet no, she wasn’t beautiful, her features were

too strong, too defined for beauty. But her eyes laughed, and she had a presence that one would

consider only a princess or someone of high breeding could acquire. She was like

someone from another

world, in all ways from another world.

And of late, this had troubled his nights. So, in order to enter her world it was imperative that he

succeed tomorrow in convincing those people in Newcastle that he was worth something

more than a

labourer in a smelt mill for the rest of his life.

And Mary Ellen? . Mary Ellen in love with him? He scrubbed his face with the rough

coarse towel.

She was always going for him, arguing with him. Fancy being married to Mary Ellen.

God in heaven! He

wouldn’t know a minute’s peace. Talk about a fishwife. She would upbraid him more

than any fishwife

every day of his life. Marry Mary Ellen? Oh, really! Kate had got the wrong end of the stick there.

Wishful thinking. It was laughable. And Mary I Ellen would laugh at it too, he bet, if she knew.

Anyway, he understood Lennie Davison, her master’s grandson, was sweet on her. She

had said as

much herself, at least hinted in that way. Lennie was just turned twenty-one, there had been a great do

for his birthday a short while ago he had been there and she had danced with Lennie more than once in

the barn that night. In fact, who hadn’t she danced with? Oh yes, she was bonny enough in a way, and

sprightly. It was only her tongue that was wrong with her.

Aw, Kate had been imagining things. Anyway, he’d bring her something back from

Newcastle and

make his peace with her.

He had never paid more than four shillings for a pair of breeches and five shillings and six pence for a

coat, but here he was, dressed in clothes that cost him twenty-three shillings, and that wasn’t taking into

account the cravat or the new boots, or the cloth bag he’d had to buy to put his Sunday clothes in. He

had never realized how ordinary his Sunday garb was until that tailor had spread out his range of wares.

It was after he had made his choice that the man had brought out a full suit of clothing. It had been

ordered by somebody who had gone away, he said. Dead, he meant, but it fitted him to a T, except that

it might be just a little tight under the oxters. But he could put up with that, for he had to admit that in this

rig-out he really did feel different. He likened it to a kind of armour ready-made for his meeting this

afternoon. But more so, it would, he felt, impress her: she would see him differently from the

tongue—tied fellow he had presented to her in the market place. Clothes like this did

something for a

fellow, for from the moment he had walked out of that shop in the side street he realized there was a

world awaiting him which was strange and exciting.

He took out the silver-plated case from his pocket and looked at the round watch lying in it It was the

one that Kate had taken from his father’s belt. It had lain glassless and broken for years.

However, a

short time ago he had had it mended, and although it now told him he had plenty of time before he should

reach the Assembly Rooms, it also again created in his mind that muzziness that

disturbed him when

handling it and which he had experienced more than once of late.

Twenty minutes later he was standing on the pavement opposite the Assembly Rooms in

which a concert

was to be held that afternoon. She had hinted, no, more than hinted that she might be

attending it. That

was when he had told her last week that he was to take his drawings to show to people of importance in

the city He recalled that she had smiled and raised her eyebrows and repeated softly,

“People of

importance?” From another’s lips it might have appeared that she was scoffing, but he

couldn’t imagine

her ever scoffing anyone, she was so different. She seemed so alive. Perhaps vital was a better word.

Aye, vital. Yet what did he mean by that? He didn’t know. He only knew that he was in

love for the

first time, and he couldn’t see it ever fading.

He watched the carriages draw up and the people descending and going in to the concert hall. Would

she arrive in a carriage? No his head moved slightly at the thought she wasn’t a carriage type. Not that

he didn’t think of her as somebody superior, but she wasn’t a lady, not in that sense, she wasn’t prim.

He could derive that from her speech. Again, not that she spoke in an ordinary voice, but she didn’t talk

like the lady of the manor, as Hal would have termed it. How was he going to talk to Hal about the

feeling he had for this lass, because Hal couldn’t stand lasses. Look how he went for

Mary Ellen.

But then, when he came to think of it, he hadn’t done that so much of late, he seemed to have eased off

her.

Oh. Oh. There she was, crossing the road. But his heart sank; she wasn’t alone, there was another

woman with her.

Ij Well, what did he expect? That she would be walking the ,: streets of Newcastle by

herself? This

was the city, not Hexham.

He saw that they were laughing together. They had their heads slightly down and their

glances were

slanted towards each other as they drew nearer to him.

“Good-afternoon, Mr... Er....” He took off his cap and nodded, first to her, then to her companion as

he said, “Good-afternoon.”

“This... this is my friend, Miss Freeman.”

“Pleased... pleased to meet you.”

Her friend was smiling but her lips were tight and her eyes were blinking.

“Are you going to attend the concert, Mr... Mr. Er?”

“Greenbank. Rodney Greenbank.”

“Greenbank.” She put her head to the side as if trying to recall something. Then in a

polite tone she said,

“You are taking your drawings for inspection today, I understand?”

“Yes.” He nodded, smiling at her.

And in the ensuing silence it seemed to him that for the first time she noticed his change of dress, because

she looked him up and down before remarking, “Tis a pity you cannot attend the

concert.”

“Yes, yes it is. But another day. Do... do they have them every week?”

She was about to answer when her eyes moved swiftly from him and, looking across the

road, she said,

“There is my father. We must be going. Good-day, Mr. Greenbank.”

“Good-day.” He nodded first to one and then the other. And as he watched them cross

towards the

man on the opposite pavement, he exclaimed to himself in a start of surprise, Why, that’s Mr. Bannaman.

Good God! Her father, Mr. Bannaman? God Almighty! This would set up complications.

What

would Kate say because she hated the very name of Bannaman? Wasn’t he the man who

had got her

son sent away, supposedly helping him? He had never got to the bottom of that story. He had heard of

the smuggling of spirits and things, but you didn’t skip the country for that. But

Bannaman!

Still, what had happened was all in the past, years gone. Odd, but he had been determined he would

ask her her name just before they should part today, but now that he knew it, it made him uneasy.

He hadn’t seen the man for some years. When he was younger, he had come across him

and his

woodmen gathering young fir trees from the thicket above the quarry, and he had only

twice seen him in

Hexham in later years.

But then he himself rarely got into Hexham early on a Saturday ‘cos of his shifts, which was why he

hadn’t come across her either, he supposed. But one thing was clear now: she was the

daughter of a

farmer, but what was also clear, of no small farmer.

He watched her father talking to her, then press her and her friend towards the hall, but not before he

had stopped and looked across the road at him, a hard scrutinizing look.

What would happen when he found out that he was a smelter? He was wise enough to

know that

smelters, like pit men weren’t rated worthy of farmers’ daughters. But let him wait, he wouldn’t be a

smelter much longer. He staightened his shoulders and walked away, but as he did so he wasn’t

unaware that the man had not yet entered the hall but was standing at the door looking towards him.

He went up the steps bordered by iron railings, and knocked on the plain mahogany door.

It was

opened by an equally plain looking maid.

After allowing him in, she said, “What be your name, sir?” And when he told her, she

went to a door

across the small hall and, opening it, she said, “Mr. Rodney Green... bank.” She split his name as if it

were two words.

All eight men in the room turned and looked towards him; then one of them stepped

forward with

outstretched hand, saying, “I’m Mr. MacPherson. How do you do?” Then he looked at

the two bags

that Roddy had laid down on the carpet before extending his own and, with a broad smile on his face, he

said, “Don’t tell me both of those are full of drawings.”

“Oh, no, no,” Roddy said, smiling self-consciously; then stooping, he lifted a flat case from the cloth bag,

muttering as he did so, “I’ve... I’ve been shopping.

“Tisn’t often I’m in the city.”

“Well, come along, and bring the important parcel with you.” And Mr. MacPherson now

led him

towards the other men, adding, “It’s a pity Mr. Mulcaster couldn’t be here this afternoon.

But some of

us have got to work.” He laughed now, and the other men joined in.

“Now this is Mr. Richardson... and Mr. Parker.”

“Pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet you.” On and on it went until the names merely

buzzed through

his head. The introductions finished, he undid the string round the case and slowly lifted one large

drawing after another and placed them on the long table. Some he turned about so that the men on the

opposite side could see them. And then he stood back listening to the low exchanges.

When one man with his head bent low over a drawing said, “Promising.

Very promising,” another to his side growled, “ Promising be damned, Willie. “

At this he felt his face turning scarlet. It was like dire condemnation. But then the man who had spoken

these words looked up at him through narrowed eyes and said, “How long have you been

on this, son?”

His first reaction to this was a slight bristling at having been called son of course the man opposite was

elderly, but he himself looked no boy and he muttered in a stiff tone, “As... as long as I can remember...

far back.”

The man straightened his body, and now his next words brought a warmth flooding

through Roddy that

heightened the colour still further in his face.

“Well,” he said, ‘for my part, I would say you haven’t wasted your time. You’ve got

somewhere. This

roasting furnace is good.

Never missed a brick in it, did you? “ But then he qualified all he had said by adding, “

Not that you

haven’t got a lot to learn. You understand? “

“Yes, I understand, sir.”

Then his bright thoughts of a rosy future were dampened yet again by a voice at the end of the table

saying, “But all these have been done before, don’t let us forget that.”

“Nobody’s forgetting that, Jim’—his champion was speaking again ‘but there’s additions here and

initiative in the suggestions. I know damn fine constructive drawings have been done

before and about

smelting I’ve seen dozens of them, hundreds in fact but this applicant won’t stick to

smelting, will you,

Mr. Greenbank?”

He heard himself muttering, “No, sir,” while wondering about the use of the word

applicant. Then he

was made to wonder still further when his champion went on, “Of the three of them, this lad’s got my

vote.”

“Well, we’ll see, we’ll see.” It was the quiet voice of Mr. MacPherson coming in now,

and he went on

addressing Roddy pointedly, asking, “Have you done any other kind of art, live art, or landscape, or