A Dinner Of Herbs (59 page)

would be such a good match. Oh, a very good match. You know that yourself, Kate. And

he’s a very

nice fellow.”

“Who’s saying he’s not, Mam? Get to the point.”

Mary Ellen had never had occasion to chastise her daughter for being sharp-tongued;

Kate had always

been so amenable, even as a child. But of late, since the church business, Kate had

altered, which was

to be expected she supposed. So she kept her tone level as she said, “Well, the point is, lass, he sat

chatting over a cup of tea in the sitting-room, and he happened to say if he could persuade his American

friend to come to the ball, it would be nice. He meant for him. Well, you know Maggie.

She

immediately started to ask questions about the man. And at that he said, “ Oh, well, your sister could tell

you more than I can, because from what I gather they are great friends. “ That’s what he said. Well, you

can imagine, it was only natural, we were all surprised.” And Mary Ellen remarked to

herself. That was

putting it mildly. Amazed would have been a better description for their reactions. And now she went

on, “Well, he seemed to think we knew about it, so nobody said anything, and the

conversation went on

to something else. Well, and then you came into the yard. So, if you’re fair, you can’t blame us

altogether, lass, for being surprised.”

“No, I suppose not, Mam, but you can’t blame me either for acting as I did, knowing

what reactions

would be if I brought him home: What were his intentions? Was he going to marry me?

Oh, I know, I

know what it would have been. After his first visit he would have been scared to come

back.” She

stopped herself from adding, “Unless it was to see Maggie,” because Maggie would have

undoubtedly

used her wiles on him.

Oh yes, she knew Maggie.

“Don’t you think he might have thought it odd that you haven’t asked him to come

home?”

“No, I don’t. He’s not one for company.”

“Oh.” Mary Ellen got up quickly from the bed.

“From what we learned from Mr. Bentley he’s very much at home with company. Goes

round all the

villages chatting to this one and that, gathering information, and keeps some people

amused in the inns

with his tales of his country. So I wouldn’t say that he doesn’t get about. He’s not a man of mystery.

Perhaps you never asked him. “

“That’s right, Mam, perhaps I never asked him.”

He’s not a man of mystery, caused a barrage of questions to attack her mind, all leading to one thought.

What did she really know about him?

He had never mentioned his family to her. The one time she had tried to open up that

subject he had

adroitly closed it. He was very skilful at that kind of thing, answering a question by asking another. And

hadn’t he said that his staying or going would largely depend upon her? What facets of friendship were

strong enough to hold a man or send him on his way? She didn’t know, nor had she the

vaguest idea of

what would shed light on the matter.

Mary Ellen said now, “Your dad will have something to say about this, you know.”

“Doubtless.”

Mary Ellen drew in a sharp breath and hurried from the room.

Doubtless, she had said, doubtless. And in that tone of voice. Oh, Kate had changed, and out of all

recognition.

At the evening meal Kate knew that her father had already been put in the picture. The conversation

would have been strained had he not taken it upon himself to regale them with the

impending doom of the

crops should this dry weather continue: Flour was now at three shillings a stone and he could see it

jumping by sixpence towards the end of the year; in fact, the miller had said it could reach four shillings.

And potatoes, why, some were already charging one and a penny a stone. Beef and

mutton were still

sixpence a pound, but couldn’t stay at that. He looked at his sons and said, “It’ll pay us to stock barley

because the price it will bring later on will be hair-raisin’. It’s sixteen shillings a boll now, but I’d like to

bet by the turn of the year it’ll go up to eighteen or twenty. Yes, we’ll stock every grain of it.” Then he

had looked round the table with a grin on his face, adding, “And when things get really tight, you’ll all

have to pull your belts in, two notches at least, because I’ll cut down on your oats then.”

They all laughed or smiled with the exception of Maggie who had been sullen all

throughout the meal.

Then just before they rose from the table he looked at Florrie, saying, “And what’s this I hear, consent

being given to your gallivantin’, without my knowledge? Going to the balls now, is it?

Oh, we’ll have to

nip that in the bud.”

Florrie smiled tenderly at him now, saying dutifully, “Yes, Dad, I think you’d better. But before you do

it I’d like to have a suitable cloak to wear a week come Saturday.”

Again there was laughter, the twins saying almost simultaneously as was usual, “Good

for you, Florrie.

That’s it, get something out of him. We can’t.”

Hal now rose from the table, shaking his head and saying, “My God! Get something out

of him. That’s

what you get for bringin’ a family up. Well, you two, let me get something’ out of you.

Come on with you! There’s a heifer we’ve got to get something out of the night, and if we’re not careful

an’ she gets no better, she’ll never live to be a cow. “

All now left the dining room except Kate and Florrie; it was their turn to clear the dishes.

But Hal had

not been gone more than a few minutes before he returned and, without saying a word, he took Kate by

the arm, led her down the room, through a door at the far end, along the corridor and into his office, and

there, pushing her into a chair, he bent towards her, saying, “Now come on, open up to the old man.”

She watched him perch himself on the edge of his desk before she said, “There’s nothing to open up

about. You’ll have heard it all.”

“What I’ve heard is you’ve been seem’ this American fellow on the quiet, and I’d like to know why, I

mean, keepin’ your meetings quiet.”

“I told Mam why, and she’s already likely told you. The answer is evident: I did it just to prevent what

is happening now. Questions.

Questions. And then ideas:

Was there anything in it? What were his intentions? And I ask you, you’ve seen him,

what would a man

as presentable as he is want with me other than as a friend, one who is interested in

reading? “

“Aye, what?” He poked his face towards her.

“He might want to marry you.”

“Oh, Dad.”

He thrust out his hand and none too gently pushed her back into the chair as she had

made to rise,

saying, “Keep your seat a minute. As I told you afore, you’ve got the wrong idea about yourself, and

naturally you’re thinking as a woman all the time, you can’t think otherwise. I remember saying this to

you a few months gone. A man doesn’t always go for someone who looks like Maggie, or

then again

Florrie. He’s attracted by something else, as I was to your mother: a bit of fire in the guts, a partner, a

mate, someone who could rough it with him an’ doesn’t want to be dollied up all the

time. We leave that

for the gentry and so-called ladies with their fancy men on the side. No, what an honest man wants is

something in a woman that can’t be put into words. But he recognizes it when he sees it, in her manner,

in her eyes, in her tongue. Oh aye, in her tongue. Like I did with your mother. It’s

something, if you like,

that isn’t in the flesh, yet is. Oh, I’m not a man with words. I stopped readin’ books years ago, the only

readin’ I do now, as you know, is cattle pamphlets or the newspapers, an’ generally only the headin’s.

But in here’—he thumped his chest “I’ve got a knowledge that no words can put a name

to. I’ve

sometimes thought about it and likened it to what cattle must feel. They go mostly by the smell. And you

know, ‘tis the same with human beings, we’ve each got our different smells. Don’t screw your face up

like that.” He smiled at her now.

“What I’m sayin’ is true. I sometimes think that a man unknown to himself, is attracted to a woman by

what she gives off in her sweat.

Oh no’—he now pulled a long face ‘women don’t sweat, do they? they perspire. “

“Oh, Dad.” She closed her eyes and lowered her head while she smiled and said softly,

“Perhaps

you’re right. But... but in this case your... well, your instincts don’t apply. And I can say this, I think he’s

got as much idea of marrying me as he would have of marrying one of the Indian natives called squaws he

has spoken about in his own country.”

Hal now slid off the end of the table and, taking his doubled fist, he rubbed it from one side to the other

of his jaw, and when it came to rest under his lower lip, he held it there for a moment, saying, “Do one

thing for me, will you, lass?”

“If I can. Dad.”

“Invite him down to a meal. By what I hear he’s not above eating in inns, and we can

provide as good a

table as an inn, can’t we now?”

She turned her head away and thought for a moment. She couldn’t say she’d already

asked him and

he’d refused because that would certainly raise a barrage of questions:

aren’t we good enough? And so on. So she said, “All right. Yes, all right.”

Hal now put his arm round her shoulder and drew her to her feet, saying gently, “You

know how I feel

about you, Kate, don’t you?” And she answered as gently, “Yes, I know. Dad, and I feel the same way

about you.”

“Well, I’m going to say something to you now, which I suppose I shouldn’t. I fathered

tother two

females and if they’re happy, or not so happy, it doesn’t seem to bother me. God forgive me, I shouldn’t

say that. But what happens to you, Kate, does. Now, now, now. I didn’t say that to make you cry.

Come on, come on, wipe your eyes.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed

clumsily at

her face, the while saying, “You go in there bubbling and she’ll think I’ve been getting’

at you, an’ then

she’ll get at me, and I’ve had a very tirin’ day and a more tirin’ night ahead of me if that silly little bitch

doesn’t calve. Come on. Come on.”

She blinked her eyes and, smiling at him now, she said, “To the byres with you, Mr.

Roystan.” And as if

they were sharing a joke, he pulled at his thinning forelock, saying, “Yes, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Indeed

ma’am, that’s where I should be. And I’ll be away now, ma’am. Right now, ma’am, as I

know me

place.” And on this he pushed her playfully before turning from her and going from the room.

She bit tightly down on her lip to stop the tears starting once more, blew her nose, and sniffed, then

stood with her eyes closed in an endeavour to compose herself before making her way to the kitchen,

there to do her part in the evening chores of washing up and setting the table for the morrow’s breakfast,

but mostly to prepare herself against the spate of questioning looks that would be directed against her.

The following week, she knew they were all waiting for her to ride out, so she didn’t. On the morning of

the day she could have done so, she offered to join her mother and Florrie on the long journey to

Hexham in order to help choose a cloak for Florrie to wear at the coming ball. Whatever each member

of the family thought of this, no one said anything.

It wasn’t until the following Monday when the mail van stopped at the farm gate and the driver handed a

letter to Hal, and he, bringing it into the house exclaimed, “I have a letter here, and would you believe it,

by the postmark it was posted in Newcastle on Thursday afternoon, and here’s almost

five days gone.

That’s the newfangled penny post for you. A few years ago that would have been in

Hexham the next

morning and you could have gone to the office and picked it up. But now, will they hand over your own

property to you at the office? No, it’s got to be delivered to the house stated on the envelope.... “ Tis for

you, Kate. “

She had been about to go out of the far door and into the hall, and she turned and said,

“For me?” then

advanced towards him, took the letter from him, looked at the envelope and said,

“Thanks.”

“See what I mean about the date?”

She again looked at the envelope and said, “Yes. Yes, I do.” But she didn’t attempt to open the letter,

but again said, “Thanks,” and turned away.

She had been on her way to the dining-room to do some polishing, as it was Monday and

her turn to

help indoors this particular day while Annie, Maggie, and Florrie were at the washing, and her mother

was doing the cooking.

She had no sooner closed the dining-room door behind her than she once again looked at the envelope.

She wasn’t in the habit of getting letters, and this certainly wasn’t from Harry Baker, because he had

been no hand at writing. Whoever had written the address had studied penmanship. She

held the

envelope tightly between her two hands before opening it. Then she unfolded a single

sheet of paper and

looked at the one line written there. It said, very simply,

I have missed you. Ben.

She put her hand to her throat; her mind was again in a turmoil trying to understand how a man would