A Dinner Of Herbs (70 page)

“No, I can honestly say I have never been married before, nor yet have I proposed

marriage to any

woman until I met Kate. No, my emotional state was caused through .. well, you could

say, family

problems, things that had happened in the past having left repercussions.”

“Aye, well, what I say is, a man can’t be responsible for his people.

If he’s upright in himself, that’s all that matters. “

“I’m very pleased to hear you say that, sir, very pleased indeed.”

“Aye, well, if we had to be responsible for our forebears’ doings, half of us would die of shame.”

Ben stared at the man. Here was another opening. If he were to say who his forebears

were now,

surely this man would have to eat his own words if he didn’t accept him for what he was.

If only he

hadn’t promised Kate. Almost immediately, however, he knew how right Kate had been

when the man

before him, his voice and mood changing, said, “Of course, like everything else there’s exceptions, and

bad blood can be passed down, and not only through the male as some would hold, but

through the

females an’ all. Aye, by God! through the females an’ all.”

It seemed to Ben that the man must have forgotten his presence, for he sat staring down on the brown

ledger. The pen had fallen from his fingers and they were spread out as if about to clutch at something.

Then he sighed and lifted his head and once more they were looking at each other.

“Aye, well,” Hal said, getting to his feet, ‘we’d better get back and put her out of her misery, although

mind, I’ll have something to say to. her about her underhandedness in all this. By! I will.

And so will

her mother. But just one more thing. “ He stabbed his finger into Ben’s shoulder.

“About this taking her away: you’re not thinkin’ about America, are you?”

“No, not at the moment; in fact, not at all. That, I suppose, was an unfortunate phrase.

Anyway, I

know I could never take her away, not in one sense, for she has such deep feelings for you all,

exceptionally so I would say for yourself and her mother. Her one aim in life seems never to bring you

hurt.”

“Aye, well, she never has. She’s been a grand lass and I think of her as if she was me own. But I

suppose you know she isn’t. You heard about her father comin’, I’ll bet.”

“Yes, yes I did. “ But strangely that incident seems only to have deepened her affection for you. “

“Yes, well.” He wagged his head in embarrassment, then said abruptly but with

something of a grin on

his face, “Come on, I’ve listened to your chit-chat long enough, let the others put up with it.” And Ben

grinned back at him, at the same time thinking, What a character. He’d fit beautifully into Galveston,

especially the business side. There’d be no pulling the wool over this man’s eyes.

But the mental picture created another disturbing thought: What would really be this

man’s reaction when

he later discovered that Kate had literally pulled the wool over his eyes where he himself was concerned?

A sudden shudder passed over his lean body and there returned to him a feeling of fear such as he

hadn’t experienced since he was a boy:

there was the overpowering figure of his mother advancing towards him, her hands

outstretched as if she

were about to choke him. And so strong was the feeling that it took all his will power to enable him to

resume his usual poise before entering the sitting-room to face the waiting family.

Hal hadn’t been well for the past week. The inheritance of the smelter’s disease had, over the years,

made itself evident, particularly during the autumn and early winter. But it hadn’t until now made him take

to his bed. For two full days, Mary Ellen had cosseted him with potions similar to those which old Kate

would have used on this complaint. She had also rubbed his chest with goose fat and kept a hot iron

oven plate at his feet. And although he wasn’t much improved after the two days, he

insisted on getting

about and had, up till now, spent most of his time in the office which, Mary Ellen had said, could have

been a smelting mill itself, so hot was the room.

All ‘this morning he had sat pondering over his ledgers. The harvest had been anything but good it was

more than a quarter down all round on last year so when he got his meal back from the

miller he had to

charge around eighteen shillings per boll for it, which worked out at almost three and six a stone in the

market. And he’d had to charge as much as one and six a stone for his potatoes, which

made it difficult

to sell them. Everything else in proportion was up in price. What the fowl would bring today he didn’t

know. But as was usual, he had instructed the boys to wait and see the state of the market before pricing

the butter and eggs.

Gabriel and Tom had driven the goods into market this morning, and only Kate and

Florrie had gone

with them. Florrie was to meet Charles in Hexham and ride back with him; he had been

invited to

supper. Kate was to see Ben, also in Hexham, so she had said, and she was to invite him, too, back to

supper. However, Mary Ellen was doubtful of his accepting the invitation: to her mind, there was

something strange about this match, because for the last fortnight he hadn’t called at the house; instead,

Kate had ridden out to him. Now that wasn’t right, that a woman should ride out to a man as often as she

did. There was something about the whole affair she couldn’t put her finger on.

She looked towards Hal. He was sitting happed up with a big shawl to the side of the fire; she herself,

was sitting as far from it as she could get. The room wasn’t all that big and the fire was enormous. She

was sweating and her fingers were sticking to her work. She was in the process of

embroidering a sun

bonnet; she was sewing a small frill round the edge of the neck flap. It was a special bonnet, for it was to

go into Florrie’s trunk. Not that she would be in need of many bonnets when she married Charles. But

nevertheless, he was a farmer and she might sometime want to go out into the fields and help with the

hay. She was happy for Florrie. That was a good match, she would never want. Nor

would Kate either

by the sound of it. A man of means, Hal said he was, big means. So she wouldn’t need a sun bonnet,

nor a shawl spun from their own wheel.

“What about Maggie?”

The question came at her and brought with it a feeling of irritation.

Oh, Maggie was likely to fall between two, three, or four stools.

Maggie was a flibbertigibbet at heart, she was sorry to say. Not content with two on her tail now, she

had plumped for taking the victuals over to the Bostons this morning, because John had said Andrew was

home.

Andrew Boston, like Hugh, was going in for law. Hugh had been home last week-end,

and while

teasing Maggie and saying that all the lads in Newcastle knew of her, he happened to

mention that

Andrew Boston had been asking after her. This had been in the way of a joke, because

Andrew had

been courting Lily Quale on and off since they were children, at least it had seemed like courting, but she

had never got him up to the scratch of an engagement. And so it was a family joke: they would say, “As

long as Andrew Boston’s courtship.” But there, this morning hadn’t Maggie proffered to take the weekly

victuals to the little manor? Killing two birds with one stone, as she put it, because she wanted to take

Betty some embroidery threads. So keen had she been to go that she herself had

harnessed up the horse

and trap, which had almost elicited a sarcastic quip from Gabriel a look from her having warned him just

in time for it was well-known in the family that Maggie didn’t like outside work at all, although she was

quite good in the house.

“What did you say?” Mary Ellen leant forward, and Hal, his voice almost a croak, said, “I

... I said, the

house won’t be the same with only Maggie left in it.”

“Oh, there’s almost a year to go, at least for Florrie. But if Maggie makes up her mind, it could be the

morrow. You know Maggie.”

They had both refrained from mentioning Kate’s future, yet they each knew that it was in the forefront of

the other’s mind.

When he coughed a harsh chest-racking cough, she said, “I’ll get you something hot.”

And he

protested, waving his hand at her until he got his breath back and then he said, “I’m sick of hot drinks.

I’ll have some small beer.”

“Not a drop of rum?”

“Woman, I said small beer. I want something thin to run down me gullet.”

“All right. All right’—she nodded ‘you’ll get some thing thin to run down your gullet, but it’s hot stuff

you want inside of you, not cold. Being you, though, you know best, don’t you?”

“Aye, I do. And get on with it.”

After she had left the room, he sat grinning quietly to himself for a moment. Then his face took on a

sober expression mirroring his thoughts: he had never been frightened about himself

before, but this last

was a bad dose. He had seen men die of the smelter’s disease and in their young days,

too. So he had

considered he had been lucky to have got out of the mill when he did. But apparently it hadn’t been soon

enough. Then of course, the stab wound he’d had in his ribs from either Bannaman or his thug hadn’t

helped. From time to time he had a pain there that he didn’t let on about.

Deep inside, he was angry at his state of health. Here he was, not yet fifty, and not

looking anywhere

near that age and most of the time able to work like a man still in his twenties, yet inside, there was this

rotting. But anyway, he comforted himself now, he had got this far over the hump: if the smelt was going

to kill you, it usually did so in your thirties; once you got over that it became more like a yearly visitation

and an irritation. Look at Bob Hancock, turned eighty. He had been coughing for the last forty years.

And Peter Mclllroy. He was well into his sixties, and he had only been left the mine these ten years or

so, and he was still going strong.

He sat dwelling on the survivors, willing himself not to recall the names of those who hadn’t survived

when the door opened and John came in in his stockinged feet, hunching his shoulders,

saying, “By! this

is where I’d like to be the day. How are you feeling?”

“All right. If it wasn’t for your damn mother, I’d be outside.

Coddling, coddling, she never stops. “

“Yes, that’s where you should be.” John stood nodding down at him.

“Swinging the lead, that’s all you’re doing. Anything for an easy life. Cough, hawk, and spit, just to

show you’re bad.”

“Look out, you, I’ve still got enough strength in me hand to land you one.

“Aye. Well’—John’s voice became serious now ‘you want to hang on to it, your strength, and not be

so damned stubborn. And get it into your head that the place is not going to drop to bits if you don’t

show your face in the yard every morning at five o’clock. There’s four of us out there, 490 and if we

can’t manage now, we never will.”

“Oh, you think you can manage on your own, do you? You want me stuck in the corner

with a pipe in

me mouth, jabbering?”

“Oh, I can see the day. Yes, I can see it coming.” John was smiling now. And when Mary Ellen

entered the room he turned to her and said, “You know what he’s telling me here?”

“No, what now?”

“He says he’s fed up with work outside and he’s going to sit in the corner with a pipe in his mouth.”

They exchanged glances, then laughed; but Hal said nothing, just jerked his chin upwards and extended

his hands for the mug of beer, and he was just about to take a drink of it when a voice was heard calling,

“Mam! Mam!” And he looked at Mary Ellen and she at him, saying, “That’s our Maggie.

She’s back

early.”

At this John said, “Likely she’s raced home to tell us she’s hooked Andrew.”

“Don’t be silly.” Mary Ellen went to open the door, but it was almost pulled out of her hand, and there

stood Maggie, her face red, her eyes bright, her breath coming quickly.

“What’s the matter? What’s happened?”

“Come here a minute, I want to tell you something.”

“If you’ve anything to tell, lass, I’m here an’ all. What is it?”

Maggie moved a step until she could see her father, and her mouth opened twice before

she said, “I’d

better tell Mam first.”

“Come in here. “ His voice sounded like a rusty bark, and almost apprehensively now,

Maggie glanced

at her mother, then sidled into the room.

“Well, what news have you got that’s of such importance it’s made you red in the gills?

And you’ve

likely driven the trap as if the highway men were after you. Well, speak out, girl.”

Now Maggie glanced from her father to her mother, 491 then to John, who, aiming to

help things out,

said, “Well, perhaps it’s woman’s talk. Is it?”

She shook her head.

“What is it, girl?”

Maggie now turned to her mother and, her voice low and as if there were no one else

present in the

room, she said, “It’s ... it’s about him.”

“Him?”

“Yes, him. Kate’s supposed friend, her intended.” There was a bite to the last word.

“What about him?”

Maggie now turned and looked at her father, saying, “You’re ... you’re not going to like this, Dad.”