A Dinner Of Herbs (58 page)

together.

He did not walk towards the cottage but stood with his back against the wall now,

looking at her, and

when he said, “I have news for you,” she checked her breathing before she forced herself to say, “Yes?”

“I don’t know whether you’ll be vexed or pleased ... but I think Daisy is in foal.”

She felt the smile pass over her entire body.

“How wonderful! Why did you think I’d be vexed?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head.

“Silly thing to say, I suppose.

Yes, indeed, it was a silly thing to say. And, of course, I forgot you are a farmer’s

daughter and will be

quite used to such events. “

“Yes, yes, I’m quite, used to them, but, nevertheless, each birth or calving gives me a thrill. To see those

thin beautiful straggling legs finding their way upright within minutes almost never palls; it’s like a miracle

each time it happens.”

His face was straight, his eyes had that piercing look about them again and were tight on her. She

blinked and, looking down at the satchel she had taken from the pummel of the saddle,

she said, “I ...

I’ve brought Mr. Richardson’s novel back.”

“Well?”

She pursed her lips, “I’m ... I’m afraid I... I didn’t enjoy it as much as others. Although, as you said, his

books were written mostly for lady readers, I must confess not to be in that category. The characters, I

found ... well, rather unreal.”

“I’m glad.”

“You are?”

“Yes, yes, I am. I told you how I came across it with some others in the bookshop in

Newcastle, and

what interested me at first, it had been very much thumbed, and so I thought, well, there must be some

good reading here. But I agree with you. I have one for you this week, though, that

perhaps might be

better to your taste. It’s another of those I picked up. It’s by Laurence Sterne, called The Life and

Opinions of Tristram Shandy. It’s a very odd book and rather difficult to get into, and surprising reading

in parts, but his characters are real. Anyway, come along in. I have a cool drink ready; I have kept the

two bottles in the spring since yesterday. It’s what you call ginger beer. I suppose you’ll know all about

it.”

“Oh, ginger beer, yes.” She laughed now.

“I was visiting a house yesterday and they kindly gave me these bottles.”

He was visiting a house yesterday. Where did he get to the rest of the week when she

didn’t see him?

He had never expressed any desire to visit her people. In fact, he rarely referred to them.

But whenever

she spoke of them, he became attentive.

The ginger beer came out sparkling, and she was grateful for it, saying, “Oh, this is

good.”

“It is something that most people make around here, I understand.”

“Oh, yes, a lot of people make their own beers. The herb beer, though, is more popular with the

menfolk, its bitterness tending to be more like ale, I suppose.”

They were seated at each side of the little table now. There was no fire in the grate today, and, by the

look of the ash, none had been for some time. And she noted this and said, “What are you doing for your

meals? How are you managing without the fire?”

“Oh, I don’t mind drinking cold milk, and I go into an inn most days and have something.

They do very

good meals in most of them. And I’m quite used now to English cooking; I particularly

like the enormous

puddings, especially the suet ones. I’m going into Newcastle tomorrow.

Is there any book that you would like me to get for you? “

She considered for a moment, then said, “No. I’m very satisfied with your choice, and

very pleased that

you loan them to me.”

“Oh that.” He made a face, then with a deprecating movement he added, “What is that,

loaning a

book.” He leant towards her now, his eyes again tight on her face as he said, “I would like to buy you a

book, two books, three books, as a present.”

A sudden coolness came into her body.

“You’re leaving?”

“No, no.” He straightened up.

“Well’—he looked towards the door ‘that’s a question that’s hanging in the air.”

“Why, may I ask?”

He still concentrated his gaze on the open door as he said, “You’d be surprised if I were to tell you. But

tell you I will one day.” He swivelled slowly round in the chair and gazed at her, saying now very quietly,

“It could depend a great deal on you.”

She knew that her face had turned scarlet. She wasn’t given to blushing, except when

greatly disturbed,

and now she was definitely greatly disturbed, because she thought that if she had been other than she

was, his words could have meant but one thing. What did they mean?

She had no idea. Her voice was small when she said, “How can your departure depend

upon me?”

“Give me a fortnight, perhaps three weeks, and then I’ll tell you.”

Her elbows were resting on the table, her hands joined together, and when his hands

suddenly dropped

on them, the breath caught in her throat and her eyes misted as she listened to him saying,

“I have never

met anyone that I could talk to like you, Kate.

Right from our first meeting, we were compatible. Don’t you think? “

She made no answer, and the pressure of his hands tightened as he went on, “This kind of thing

happens. I’ve read about it but never believed it, but now I do. Your friendship has come to mean

something very important to me.”

The heat slowly seeped from her body and a heaviness came into her breast. Friendship.

Of course,

yes. She had been mad to think it could have meant anything else. She must respond as

he expected.

So she forced herself to say, “I ... I too value our friendship, more so than you can

imagine, because of ...

of something that happened to me, the very week that I first saw you.”

“What was that?”

She looked down towards their joined hands and it was some seconds before she said, “I was left at the

church.”

“Left at the church?”

It was as if he didn’t understand the meaning of her words, and she looked up at him and explained, “I

was to be married. He ... he didn’t come.”

He held her gaze now as he said, “Oh, that. I knew about that. Charles told me. And I’m glad,

because if he had come you wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

Again her face was suffused with colour and her emotions were mixed, because she could see that his

friendship towards her had sprung out of pity. Yet, he said he was glad.

“Whoever he was, he was a fool, and someone always profits by a fool’s doings, and it’s myself in this

case.”

She gazed at him. He was so good to look upon, not handsome as one thought of a pretty man, but

there was an appeal about him that went beyond his features. The way he carried himself, his voice, his

understanding of things which, she judged, came through his constant

reading. He was so different from the men in her own family and from any of the others she had ever

met. And she had his friendship. Well, wasn’t that something? More than she really

should have

expected, but not more than her heart cried out for, and for which she must take great pains to still its cry

and the knowledge that when he eventually left she would know the devastation as never before. Yet, he

had said his leaving depended on her. Why? But she must not probe. She must not act

like some silly

woman who would go on probing until he gave her the reason, for apparently he did not

see her as a silly

woman, perhaps not as a woman at all, just as a friend, a dear friend.

Slowly she withdrew her hands from his and rose to her feet, saying, “I must be away.”

But as she went

towards the door he checked her, saying, “Kate.” And she turned to him to find him still standing by the

side of the table.

“Yes?”

“You remember when I asked you your name some time ago?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And later I told you mine. Do you remember it?”

She smiled now, saying, “Yes ... Mr. Benedict Fraser Hamilton.”

He laughed gently now as he said, “Sounds nice when you say it like that. Well, I told you I was

generally referred to as Ben. And you know something?” He waited a moment before

ending, “You

have never called me Ben.”

Oh, that silly flushing of her face. It was bad enough to look as she did, but when her skin was so

suffused with colour she dreaded to think what her appearance might be to the onlooker.

She forced

herself to say somewhat coolly, “The occasion hasn’t arisen to make use of it.

I suppose that’s the reason. “

He came up to her now and once more she was being forced to look into his eyes as he

said, “Well, I

think the occasion is now. You could say, I hope, Ben, you have a nice day in Newcastle tomorrow.”

She began to laugh gently. At times he was so boyish in his ways that he appeared to be no older than

Gabriel, whereas, when discussing books, he appeared a very mature man.

They were both laughing when she repeated his words, “I hope, Ben,” and she

emphasized his name,

‘you have a nice day in Newcastle tomorrow. “

That’s better. And it won’t hurt so much with use. “

Now she laughed aloud, and he joined her, and they were still laughing when they

reached the stone

wall, and he called the horses to him.

When she was mounted he again put his hand on hers, saying, “Do you only ride out once a week?”

“No, I sometimes only ride out once a fortnight.”

He slapped her hand, “That wasn’t what I meant,” he said.

And she answered quietly, “I... I have my duties in the house. And towards the end of the week

everybody is very busy getting ready for the market. But I sometimes go out on a Sunday, that is if we

don’t have visitors.”

“Well, in future, I shall be in on a Sunday to receive visitors.”

She made no reply, she did not even smile at him but jerked the reins and rode off. If this was his

manner when dealing with friendship, what must it be like when dealing with love?

As she entered the yard she saw Charles Bentley about to mount his horse. Standing near him were her

mother and Maggie, Florrie, and John. But when he saw her approaching he hesitated and waited for

her to dismount when he greeted her airily with, “Have you been to visit our mutual

friend? I ... I was just

telling your family about him. At least’—he pulled a face ‘the little I know. He’s a very reticent fellow. I

suppose you, too, have found that out.”

She couldn’t answer him, for she was answering the looks on the faces of her family.

Charles Bentley

did not appear to notice anything unusual in her manner, for he turned to Florrie, saying,

“Until a week

come Saturday then, Miss Roystan?” Whereupon Florrie inclined her head towards him

and smiled. And

now he mounted his horse, turned it about, and with a wave of his hand, he left them.

And there they all stood looking at her.

“Well’—her chin went up—’so now you know. No more mysteries.”

They followed at her heels as she marched into the kitchen, and there Mary Ellen said,

“Well, why did

you make a mystery of it in the first place, girl? You could have said, couldn’t you?”

“Yes, I could have said.” She nodded her head from one to the other.

“Then what would have been the reaction? Another man to bring into the net. Fetch him

home. Let us

have a look at him. See if anything can be done about it.”

“Oh, Kate.” John’s voice was soft.

“It wouldn’t have been like that.”

“It would, and you know it, John. What’s the good of beating about the bush?”

“Is he starving that you’ve got to take him pies?” Maggie’s voice was tart.

“No, he is not starving, miss. And the next time I wish to make anyone a gift I’ll buy some pastries in the

town on Saturday. Will that satisfy you?”

“Now, now.” Mary Ellen’s voice was soothing.

“There is no need for this.”

“Well, if there’s no need for this, why am I being made to look like a criminal?”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate. And you’ve brought this on yourself anyway. To my mind it was

sly.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Maggie.” Kate glared at Maggie now. In different ways she loved

each member of the family, but if she was honest with herself she knew that Maggie was at the bottom of

the list, for there were selfish traits in her, and she was very vain about her looks. She recalled now that

she had talked a lot about the American the day they had met in the hotel and wondered who he was.

Well, now she knew. She swung round and went up the kitchen and closed the door none

too gently

behind her, and when she reached her room, she pulled off her hat and threw it onto the bed, then

dropped into a chair. And leaning her head back, she covered her eyes with her hand.

When presently there was a knock on the door she knew it to be her mother.

Mary Ellen did not at first speak, but sat on the edge of the bed and, picking up Kate’s riding hat, she

moved it round between her hands;

then she said, “I’m sorry, lass, but it was unintentional. He came, Charles Bentley, to ask your dad if he

could take Florrie to a ball in Hexham. It’s for some charity. And as your dad wasn’t in, and Tom away

with him, I told him to ask John. Florrie was over the moon. He’s definitely got his eye on her, and it