A Dinner Of Herbs (21 page)

“Yes, master. Yes, I do. I do indeed.”

“There now’—he looked at his wife as one might do at an erring child—” tis mistaken

you are. “

“I am not mistaken, Mr. Davison. I am not mistaken. She’s gone clean lopsided, she has.

All over this

Roddy Greenbank imagining bodies.”

He walked to the mantelpiece and took up a clay pipe from a wooden stand, and he bent

and knocked

out the doddle on the side of the stone fireplace before saying, “Natural like. Natural.

She’s only trying

to save him from transportation, and Australia is sure where he’s bound for if it’s proved he stabbed

youg Roystan. Seven years at least, could be, if not life. It all depends who the justices are where he’s

tried. Now if it was in London, Ted Yarrow was saying last night down at the inn,

because Ted, you,

know, was in the navy and many years he put in, as he said himself, in that hell-hole.

Well, there, he said,

they send off to Australia and Botany Bay ten times as many as we send sheep to market in a year in

these parts.”

“Shut up! will you, or she’ll be on the floor in a minute.” The woman bustled round the table and

unceremoniously pushed Mary Ellen down on to the settle, saying, “Control yourself,

girl! Don’t you

start no faintin’ fits in this house. No time for such.”

As Mrs. Davison now took a wet cloth and none too gently began applying it in slaps

around Mary

Ellen’s face the kitchen door once again opened, and there came into the room with a

rush her-son

Archie, followed by her grandson Lennie. And speaking rapidly and his face alight with excitement,

Archie cried, “They’ve found it! They’ve found it, da’ he nodded to the elder Davison

—’the body. And

it is Gabriel Roystan.

He had a short leg, you know, an’ wore a built-up shoe. Well, that’s how young Hal

recognized him.

But it was Roddy Greenbank when they brought him from prison who pointed out where

he remembered

the grave was. And it was with the help of Kate Makepeace; she stood in the bottom of

the quarry and

pointed upwards; that’s what they said. But ‘twas all overgrown with trees. Yet Roddy

measured the

part from where he remembered he sat on the side of the quarry and kept on that they dig there. Trees

had grown on top, but that’s where they found the body. The place is alive. They’ve put it in one of the

mill sheds, they say. And you’ll never guess where they’re off to now. Well, this much I saw meselfon

the road. You’ll never guess. “

“Well, go on then. Where? Where they off to? And who?”

Archie Davison pointed at his father as he said, “Bannaman’s. Mr. Bannaman’s. They’re

after Pat

Feeler.”

“Pat Feeler? That little chap?”

“Aye, that little chap. And that’s not all. There’s other rumours goin’ about: folks are hintin’ and

noddin’ but not saying anything in case they get brought up. But I saw them me self

There was

Mulcaster, the mill agent and two high—topped gentlemen in a coach leading the way.

And behind it, in

a market cart, was another two gentlemen ... well, ordinary looking men, constables I

should think. But

with them was Hal Roystan and Roddy Greenbank, at least what’s left of him, because he was a robust

lookin’ young fellow last time I saw him, now you’d take him for a strip of lint, no flesh on his bones and

his face as white as pig’s fat.” ‘/ told you. I told you. “

“All right. All right. So you told us. And you’ve come round enough to chirp in again.”

Mrs. Davison

was nodding her head at Mary Ellen now.

Then turning from her, she said, “Did they find the money in the grave?”

“Don’t be daft, woman,” her husband put in and puffed out a cloud of smoke from his

clay pipe and

watched it ascending to the black-beamed ceiling before adding, “You do say the daftest things, Mary.

You do indeed. Whoever robbed him and buried him, they did it for the money, and it’s

been long spent

now, I’d say.”

“Perhaps well spent, perhaps to start a new herd or some such.”

The father and son exchanged glances across the kitchen table as if they had at the same time revived

buried thoughts. Then their attention was brought back to the mistress of the house

because she was

once more upbraiding her maid, saying, “Now don’t you attempt to go off, miss. You got your tongue

back a minute gone, so come on, \softline up on your pins an’ get to those pans for they won’t scour ,

themselves.” And with this she hauled Mary Ellen to her “;

feet. And as she pushed her towards the sink she said, “Were i I to ask are you fit enough to go this

minute an’ see what’s happening’ to that one you’re so churned up about, you’d find your legs then,

wouldn’t you?”

To the surprise of her mistress and definitely to the astonishment of the three men, Mary Ellen turned

about and, bouncing her head towards the little woman, she cried, “Yes, I would that.

Yes, I would.”

Then turning her look on the only occupant of the room who hadn’t as yet opened his

mouth she cried in

no small voice, “Yes, I would. And run like a hare. So there you have it! All of you!”

And having

silenced them, she turned to the sink and, taking up the| bowl of sand and salt, she began to scour the

pan, while her | master and mistress and their son and his son stared at her f unbelieving, j But the maid’s

retort was causing the most indignant | reaction in her mistress. This was the young lass they hadj treated

as an equal, even allowing her to eat at the same| table with them, going as far as to imagine they would!

welcome her as a permanent member of the household, and I she, after all, but a servant.

So generous

had they been towards her that they hadn’t bonded her these past two| years. And on top of this, why!

they kept her ailing father in food.

And what was their reward? Insolence, the like they had never heard from any servant in the kitchen.

What were things coming to? The world was in a dreadful state:

people being murdered, graves being opened up, young men fighting and stabbing each

other. But all

this was nothing compared to the fact that her maid had dared to speak out of turn.

“Good day. Gentlemen. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Clan

Bannaman’s

manner was jovial, as was his countenance.

His cheeks were floridly red above his beard; he held his head high and his chin was

thrust outwards.

The only sign that could be taken for agitation might have been the movement of his jaw bones that put

his side whiskers into constant motion.

Justice Craig’s disposition seemed to be quite the reverse, for his countenance showed no joviality; his

round clean shaven face looked set, and his hands as he smoothed down the front of his lon^ coat

showed a nervousness. But his companion, whom he now introduced as Mr.

Saviour, attorney-at-law, showed no such nervousness.

Mr. Saviour was a man of unusual height and was broad with it; his head was in

proportion to his size;

and his appearance was more that of a prize fighter than a man of law. But his voice held a cultured tone

as he answered Clan Bannaman’s greeting of, “If you have a mind to come inside I can

offer you some

refreshment,” with, “Thank you. Thank you.

That will indeed be acceptable for we’ve had a busy morning. “

These words caused a startled glance from Justice Craig;

then the attention of the three men was drawn to the arched entrance to the yard through which a market

cart was now passing and, on the sight of at least two of its occupants, Clan Bannaman’s manner

underwent a lightning change.

“What is this?” he demanded.

“Why is that man here?” He was pointing directly at Roddy who was now being helped;

down from the cart by the two officers, 1 It was the solicitor who answered, saying, “If we could follow

your invitation and go inside, then all could be explained, sir.”

“That man is not coming into....”

“Then I’m afraid, Mr. Bannaman, we’ll have to say what has to be said outside.” It was the justice

speaking, and as he stared Clan Bannaman straight in the eye he watched the man grind

his teeth before

swinging round and thrusting back the heavy oak door.

Slowly now the two men followed him but not before beckoning towards Roddy, Hal and

the officers.

As Roddy entered the house, preceding the other three, he saw the women. They were

standing at the

far end of the long hall; they were mother and daughter, and it was at the daughter he looked. His eyes

rested on her only for a fleeting second, but they saw enough to convey her feelings of both fear and

disdain. There was no such look on her mother’s face, only one of perplexity, and it came to him in a

fleeting thought that she might be unaware of why they were all here, although at the

same time her

daughter was not so ignorant of the matter.

They were now in the large room, evidently used as part library, part office, for the two side walls were

lined with bookcases, while at the far end stood a large desk with various ledgers on it, one open.

Roddy did not take his eyes off the man as he strode towards the desk where he turned

and with

apparent righteous indignation demanded, “Well, gentlemen, out with it.”

The solicitor and the justice exchanged a questioning glance before the justice, turning his gaze on

Bannaman, said, “First of all, I will say that a great deal of unpleasantness could be overcome if you

would accompany us back to Newcastle, there to answer questions concerning a most

grievous matter

brought to light by this young man here.”

“Grievous matter! What grievous matter could I be concerned with?”

“Will you accompany us there?”

“No, I certainly shall not. I haven’t the slightest idea to what you are referring. Perhaps you will be kind

enough to enlighten me.”

The justice and the solicitor again looked at each other;

then the justice, drawing in a deep breath, began: “On a certain night in September, 1807, when this

young man was a boy of seven and a half years old, he was returning along the quarry

track to the

cottage of a woman called Kate Makepeace, and there something happened to him and

his father. It

was this woman, Kate Makepeace, who next morning found the boy hanging from

between the branches

of a bush whilst some distance away his father was found dead under what appeared to be a stone fall.

The boy’—he inclined his head to the side indicating Roddy—remembered nothing that

happened that

night. When he came to ;

his senses he did not even know his own name; but during ;

the years that followed he was troubled by vague impressions and dreams. It should

happen, as he

himself said, he unfortunately let his affections stray towards a young lady, ;

not knowing who she was; and when one day, whilst he was i speaking to her, you

angrily came upon

him, his latent | memory stirred. Angered by your attitude towards him, I and further

angered by a

comment his friend’—he again ? inclined his head but towards Hal now ‘made

disparaging | the lady in

question, he attacked him and, as many people | witnessed, they fought in the market

place at Hexham.

Yet, I later, they returned to their homes walking side by side. All | they both remember of that evening’s

walk was they were attacked, bags having been thrust over their heads and| arms before they were

knocked senseless. ;

“It is now common knowledge that when they were found,! Mr. Roystan had a knife in

his ribs, placed

there apparently | by Mr. Greenbank. Yet it was later discovered that Mr| Greenbank had himself been

so brutally treated that ill would have been impossible for him to have inflicted the;|

wound. Now say he

had done so before he was given such| rough treatment, then surely Mr. Roystan could

never with| a

knife in his ribs have beaten his friend into such a state that it was feared when they were both found that

it would be he who would die first. However, and strangely^ it was this very treatment that restored Mr.

Greenbank’s memory, and he sent word through a friend who had visited him in hospital

to Mr.

Mulcaster here saying that he remembered what had happened on that particular night.

He recalled that

he had seen his father murdered and thrown down into the quarry;

he recalled having seen a man’s face in a grave;

but most of all he recalled the face of the perpetrator. And so,” he paused here, ‘he

accuses you, Mr.

Bannaman, of the murder of his father, and also that of the man in the grave, a man

whose memory has

been defiled for years, a man who supposedly stole his employer’s money, then made off overseas, the

man who was the father of Mr. Roystan.” And he now pointed to Hal whose face was

grey, and whose

lips were tight but whose eyes were wide and staring, giving the impression that at any moment he would

spring on the man standing with his back to the desk.

This is infamous! “ Bannaman bellowed.

“It is the result of sheer spite of that individual there’—his arm was thrust out, his finger pointing at

Roddy—’who dared to make advances towards my daughter.