A Dinner Of Herbs (22 page)

This is all because I threatened what I’d do to him if he approached her again. You can’t believe a

word of this, surely. All right, a grave has been found with the clerk in it, but to say I had a hand in such

a crime is outrageous. You’ll pay for this, all of you who dare to suggest that I. “

It was Mr. Mulcaster who stopped his flow by holding up his hand and saying quietly, in an aside to the

justice, “Patrick Feeler.”

“Yes, yes.” The justice nodded. Then turning to the two officers who were standing

someway behind

them, he said, “The man ... the woodman.

Bring him here. “

“You will do no such thing. I don’t have my woodman in myhouse.I....”

“This is one time you must make an exception, Mr. Bannaman.” The solicitor’s voice

was cool.

“Don’t you dictate to me, sir! You are in my house, I will have you understand. And you will all suffer

for this accusation, let me tell you.”

The justice now broke in: his hand held up in gentle remonstrance, he said, “Let me

advise you before

you go any further, sir, there is something else you should hear. The woman, Kate

Makepeace, has

made a statement. She has told how her son was a member of a company, which you

headed, and

whose purpose was smuggling. The statement goes on to say that when it was suggested

your activities

should stray from smuggling merchandise to the more human kind, her son remonstrated

his

disagreement, as did another of the group. This man was found dead, and Kate

Makepeace’s son was

found near his body. All he could remember was that he had drunk heavily the previous

night. However,

his mother’s statement goes on to say you saw him safely shipped out of the country in order to evade a

charge of murder, for it was known that Makepeace and the deceased man were drinking

companions.

The statement goes on to say that her son knew he was being got rid of but that he could do nothing

about it;

he felt that if he did not allow himself to be deported secretly he would end up like his friend, found dead

in a ditch. Now what have you to say to that? “

“The same as I said to your previous accusations: that woman has hated me all my life.

She is a wild

creature, as her folks were before her.

She is of witch stock; who would believe her? As for smuggling. Years ago, yes, I might have accepted

a bottle of spirit or some tobacco, but I ask you, who in this country didn’t, from parson to pauper. With

the possible exception of a Quaker, there isn’t one who could ^ say they have never

handled smuggled

merchandise; and so “I I can laugh at anything Kate Makepeace could conjure up| out of her twisted

mind.”

There was the sound of scuffling outside the door; then it I burst open, and the two

officers thrust a thin

squirming | man into the room. :) Patrick Feeler was not yet sixty but he looked to be a |fl man well into

his seventies as he stood hunched and shaking staring at the faces turned towards him.

His body was thin

and his corduroy jacket and breeches hung on him as if on a fleshless frame, but his voice came out

strident as he cried, “What’s this, master? What’s this?”

Clan Bannaman made no reply, but the justice, turning to Roddy, said, “Do you recall

this man?”

Roddy looked at the thin quivering face and he answered truthfully, “No. No, I don’t

recall him, at least

not his face. But the hand.”

When he pointed to the man’s hand. Feeler pulled it up the sleeve of his jacket, only to have one of the

officers step forward and grip it, then thrust it forward for closer examination by Roddy.

Roddy stared at the hand, which showed only the index finger and thumb beside the

roughened stumps

where the three fingers had once been, and he said in a voice that trembled, “I ... I recall that. The feeling

comes back of it across my mouth. It wasn’t a hand, yet I didn’t know what it was,”

“Twasn’t me.

“Twasn’t me. Anyway I just did what I was told.”

“Feeler!” It was Bannaman barking now.

“Control yourself. You’re not being accused of anything.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re not.”

“But you are.” It was the justice speaking to him now.

“You will be accused of being an accessory to the murder of Gabriel Roystan, clerk to the smelting

works in the Barony of Langley

The? No! Look, I tell you’—the man was yelling now “I ... I didn’t. I just did what I was told.

Always have. Always have.”

“Were you told to waylay the clerk?”

“No, no.” The man’s head wagged from side to side as if in desperation. Then looking

towards Clan

Bannaman, he implored, “Tell them, will you. I didn’t do it. A man couldn’t do a thing like that on his

own anyway. You ... you said yourself.” He gaped, his mouth wide open: the room had

become still

and all eyes were on him. But a movement at the top of the room brought attention from him to Clan

Bannaman at the other side of his desk, and as he was about to pull open a drawer the

justice called one

word, “Constables!”

The two men sprang forward and the pistol was knocked out ofBannaman’s hand.

In the ensuing struggle, Bannaman seemed to have the strength of four men. He threw

one constable

onto his back and was about to send the other following him when the solicitor sprang

forward and,

getting behind Bannaman, he put his arms tightly round him which forced him to loose

his hold on the

constable.

Then something strange happened that caused everyone in the room to become still. Even the first

constable in the act of pulling himself up from the floor by gripping the edge of the desk held his position

as he looked into the contorted face of the man he had been struggling with only

moments earlier.

Bannaman’s whole body had gone into a spasm that left him contorted, his hands hanging like two big

nippers in front of the solicitor’s arms as if they had been frozen as they were about to break his

opponent’s hold. His head had dropped to the side, his mouth was wide open and his

tongue was lolling

from it.

“Dear God!” Mr. Mulcaster had moved to the aid of the now amazed solicitor,

murmuring, “Lay him

down, it’s a seizure. You must get a doctor. Dear, dear, dear. What now? What now?”

The justice, turning to one of the constables, said quietly, “Go and call the servant, or ...

or better still his

wife.” His voice had trailed away as his eyes darted around the room. Then looking at

Hal, he said,

“Where is he, the woodman?”

Hal himself now looked around; then glanced at Roddy whom he had placed in a chair,

and Roddy

answered simply, “He’s gone. He must have slipped out. But he won’t get far, he’s too

well known.”

And as Hal made hurriedly towards the door, he called weakly after him, “Where are you goin’?”

“To find him,” Hal called back grimly.

“He’s one who’s not gona get away, strokes genuine or faked.” And with this he went

out, leaving the

door open. And again Roddy saw the two women still close but hurrying across the hall

now, and when

they entered the room the sight of the contorted figure on the floor brought them, aghast, to a momentary

stop.

Mrs. Bannaman moved first: she ran towards her husband; the daughter walked more

slowly and she

stopped half-way up the room where Roddy was now standing, supporting himself

against the back of

the chair.

His gaze full on her held deep pity, but the embers of his love died as, standing so close to him that her

breath wafted over his face, and each word a hiss, she said, “You’re scum! You and your kind are

scum.

You know that? Scum! No matter what he did, you wouldn’t be fit to be his lackey, and if my brother

was here I’d have him kick you out of the house. “

Each word of the onslaught was like a blow, not only to his mind but to his weakened

physique, and he

thought for one agonizing moment that he was about to have a recurrence of the

sensations he’d had

when he was recovering from the brutal assaults on his body, when he would scream out

loud, then cry

like a child.

As he watched her move further up the room, then kneel down on the floor by the side of her mother, he

asked himself if he had ever loved her, the woman who now looked like a fiend, and the answer he got

was, yes, he had. Oh, yes, he had loved her; been crazy just for the sight of her. But why?

How had it

come about that he had allowed himself to feel like that? Scum, she had called him. She was the

daughter of a murderer, of a man who had murdered, not once, but apparently many

times, and she had

dared to call him scum and class her father above him. For a moment there arose in him a hate against

her as great as hers was for himself. Oh God! He was going to give way. Please, please God, don’t let

him have a turn. Not here. Not here.

“Sit down. Sit down.” It was Hal speaking to him and pressing him gently onto the chair again.

“You’ve had enough,” he said.

“We had better get you back.”

He looked up at Hal and it passed through his dizzying mind that they were like brothers who had lost

their father one night. And it was true; at least, both their fathers had been buried the same night.

Hal’s bitterness was deeper than his own, perhaps because he had suffered more. Hal had said to him

earlier that morning, “I want to see him hang. I’ll never feel happy again until I see them both swing.”

He now said meekly, “Did you find him?

“No; he’s skipped, took a horse and made off. But he won’t get far.

I’m not worryin’; I’ll get him, and I hope afore they do. “ The tone of his voice made Roddy shiver:

Hal was a strange fellow, deep in his loves and hates.

The justice was now saying, “When will your son be returning, Mrs. Bannaman?” And

the woman

answered, “Sometime this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry to have to press this matter further, the state your husband is in’—the justice’s tone held

concern for the woman ‘but the excise men will wish to search the house. I hope you

understand.”

“No. No, tj’^on’t.” The reply was almost a tearful whimper, but was cut off by her

daughter’s voice,

saying, “I do. I understand. You’re quite at liberty to search where you like because you can’t do

anything further to him. Even if he lives, you couldn’t charge him, so you can do nothing more, either to

him or to us.” And on this she added, “Come along, dear,” and taking her mother by the arm, she led

her from the room.

Looking after them, Hal thrust out his chin as he muttered through his clenched teeth,

“There you’re mis

taken, miss; you’ll find a lot more can be done, so much so, that you, me fine lady, will end up having

your nose rubbed in the mud, and I’ll be there to see it.” And when he ended, “Come the day, come the

day soon,” Roddy lowered his head and for a moment he wished from the bottom of his

heart that his

memory had stayed a blank.

Mary Ellen was seething inside with a mixture of impatience and anger.

Her mistress had purposely found work for her to do well past her leaving time, and the basket she was

carrying to her father was light compared to what it usually was on Sundays.

She had never imagined her kind, although scatterbrained, little mistress, could be

spiteful, but since it

had been decided that Roddy had not to return to prison, this term was the only one Mary Ellen could

use to describe Mrs. Davison’s attitude towards her.

It was more than three weeks since the body of Hal’s father had been found, and the

district had still not

settled down to normality. For days the place had swarmed with all kinds of men wanting to write about

the affair. It was said some had come from as far away as London town. Mr. Davison had said that this

was rubbish; but it couldn’t be said to be rubbish that they had all swarmed round Kate’s cottage

wanting to talk to Roddy.

The men from the newspapers had been after Hal too, but he wasn’t as easy to get to as Roddy, for he

was away scouring the hills and fells.

So determined was he to find Patrick Feeler, he had even borrowed a horse, for nothing had been seen

or heard of the man since he had escaped from the farm on the morning Mr. Bannaman

had been taken

with a seizure. And with regard to him, everybody said it was just as well fate had dealt him that blow, if

not, it would have been the rope for him. But as it was, he could neither speak nor move, and his end

was expected any time.

And there were always sightseers, besides the newspaper153 men hanging about the farm

as if waiting

for this to happen.

The latest rumour was that the mill owners were going to compensate Hal for the loss of his father.

However true that was, Mary Ellen didn’t know, and she wouldn’t know until she

reached Kate’s. And

no matter how her father would go on about her being late, she was going to Kate’s first, not just to hear

about Hal, rather she was more anxious to hear the result of Roddy’s visit to Newcastle to those new

friends of his, the painter people. Three of them had come out all this way to sec him, and Kate hadn’t

been pleased, for she had said to her on the quiet, “They treated him as if he were family, and talked