A Dinner Of Herbs (90 page)

Mam. “

“Goodbye, lass.”

When the door closed on her daughter, Mary Ellen lay back, saying, “I can’t have Ben

worried any

more.” Always Ben. Although she herself held no bones for Fraser and, like Hal, she

considered there

was a broad bad streak in him, still, the lad mightn’t have been as bad as he was if Kate had paid a little

more attention to him and less to his father. But right from the very beginning when she first clapped eyes

on the American as in her mind she still thought of Ben she had imagined the sun shone out of him. And

yet, at one time if she remembered rightly, Kate’s aim in life was just to have children.

That’s all she wanted, children.

Well, she closed her eyes, she was tired. She was almost as tired as Hal looked, and he did look tired

these days. Deep inside she was worried about him. But she comforted herself with the

thought that

there hadn’t been a winter for past years now but she had thought it would be his last, and he was still

here. He had been lucky. He was the only one of his generation left alive in these parts, at least of those

who had worked in the smelt mills. Some of them hadn’t seen their mid-thirties, and

those who had

reached fifty were the exceptions. But here was Hal sixty-five. It was an amazing age, especially in his

condition. But, as she often had said to herself, if will power had anything to do with it, he’d see a

hundred.

On Sunday evening Fraser and Yvonne met for the first time. Kate introduced her son,

saying, “This is

Fraser, my eldest son,” and she watched him stare unblinking at the young girl, his whole appearance so

dark and hers so fair that she found herself thinking, “Night and day.” Then quickly she went on to

introduce Harry. Harry was thirteen years old and the image of his father with his ascetic countenance

and pleasing smile.

Then Rose. Rose was plain, but not as plain as her mother had been at her age, nor as big.

The introductions over, it was Hal, his voice as usual drowning all the rest, saying, “Well, formalities

over, let’s eat.” So they had all adjourned to the dining-room. And it could be said that the meal was

quite merry, as John related their guest’s faux pas. One that caused laughter was when he explained how

awkward it was having an assistant who called the bull monsieur and the cows

mesdemoiselles, when in

her language the latter should really be madams, only for him to be corrected by Yvonne, saying,

“Mesdames, Jean.”

When Rose said, “My father speaks French and reads French books too,” and glanced

proudly

towards Ben, the young girl, her face brightening, asked, “You do, monsieur?”

“I read at it, let’s say. I haven’t many French books.”

“Have you read Flaubert?”

“Yes.” Ben nodded towards her.

“Madame Bovary?”

Now Ben’s eyes widened as he said, “You haven’t read Madame BovaryT “ Oui,

monsieur. You

surprise that I read her? “

“Weller, yes I am. “ He pursed his lips while smiling.

“I

understand it caused a bit of a stir? “

“Oh, many books cause stir. Some are what you call stopped?”

“Banned.”

“Oh’ ~ her chin jerked upwards ‘banned. But there are’—she paused ‘what you say?

channels to get

them.”

“I would have said, ways.”

“Ways.” She repeated, Then she turned her attention to Kate, saying, “You also, you read in French?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Kate’s voice was flat. She was having difficulty in speaking to this girl. She

doubted if she would ever feel at ease with her; she didn’t think she would ever really like her. The

nearest she had come to it was on the day after the funeral when the girl had cried for hours on end and

they’d thought she’d make herself ill. Her mother had made her a cordial that had put her to sleep, and

Mary Ellen’s only comment on the crying spasm had been, “Well, it’s about time. I

thought she hadn’t a

tear in her. She’s been too composed for her own good. I can’t make her out.”

She had said to her mother, “What does she mean to do? Stay on here?”

And Mary Ellen had replied briefly, “That seems to be the position, but it’s not one I like.”

She now started slightly in surprise when Eraser’s voice broke in saying, “Our French

master was from

Caen, in Normandy. We called him Bill.”

“Oh?” Yvonne looked at the boy sitting opposite to her. She had been aware that he had been staring

at her for most of the meal. His dark countenance, she thought, was not very appealing.

She repeated,

“Caen?” then added, “He was from the provinces.”

“He spoke good French. He wouldn’t let us speak English in his class.”

Eraser’s voice had an aggressive note to it, and at this her eyebrows slightly raised, she spoke to him in

French. The rest of the table was silent. Their eyes were on her, but their attention turned to Fraser for

when he answered her, his reply coming hesitantly, but with force and in French, she

answered him in

English, for all to hear, and what she said was, “He has left you his accent.”

The words and tone implied a snub which one would have expected from an adult, not

from a

sixteen-year-old fragile-looking slip of a girl who was now calmly splitting open the last plum on her plate

and removing the stone, while the boy’s face was showing a deepening red hue that spoke of temper.

It was Maggie who broke the silence: on a laugh, she said as she looked across at Fraser,

“Accent or no

accent, I’d give me eye teeth if I could speak any kind of French. All I remember from my school days

of French is, Ici on parle franca is and from German, because Miss Price was half

German and she made

us learn it, was the word umlaut.”

“Umlaut?” Rose now took up the conversation.

“What’s umlaut mean, Auntie?”

“Don’t ask me, I’ve forgotten.” This brought forth laughter, but it was all slightly forced.

And when the

meal was ended, Kate’s family, together with Hal and Mary Ellen, left the room and went into the

sitting-room. Yvonne did not join them but stayed to help Maggie clear the table. Kate too stayed and it

was when she went out carrying a tray of dishes that Maggie stopped Yvonne in the act

of stacking the

cups and saucers. Taking her gently by the arm, she looked into her face and said, “That wasn’t very

kind, Yvonne.”

“You mean with the boy?”

“Yes, I mean with the boy. He meant to be friendly.”

The girl turned her head away, then said quietly, “He spoke rude, and he stares all the time.”

“Well’—Maggie gave a small laugh “ I’m sure you should be used to being stared at by

now. “

“Oh oui ... yes, quite use, but his’—she moved her fingers over her face ‘his countenance is black, dark,

not like a boy’s.”

“No, you’re right there, he doesn’t look like a boy. Nevertheless, that’s what he is, and he’s been going

through a rough time lately.”

“This is he who ran from school?”

“Yes, this is he. I mean that is him. Oh’-she pushed the girl on the shoulder ‘you get me as twisted as

yourself.”

“Oh, Maggie You are my friend.” Maggie’s hand was clasped tight between the two pale

long-fingered

ones.

“I am lost. I miss mon pere, oh, so much ... so much. We talked... lot of talk, and laughed.

I have now only you and Jean. I must talk. “

“Later, later.” Maggie withdrew her hand as Kate entered the room, saying, “You should have help,

Maggie. It’s really ridiculous. Jessie Biggot would only be too willing, I’m sure, to come in and give a

hand, part time.”

“Jessie come in? Don’t make me laugh. She didn’t turn up for the washing last Monday. I had that to

do an’ all. She’s on the bottle again.”

“But she had joined the Methodists.”

“That didn’t last long. Anyway, I’d rather have her on the bottle because she became so pious for a

time she’d hardly handle the men’s long clothes.”

As she laughed out loud, Kate looked at her. Maggie seemed happier these days. Could it be Willy’s

influence? Or was it because of the girl? As her mother had said, she was acting like a clucking hen

towards a chick. But that girl was no chick. Look how she had turned on Fraser. And

Fraser had been

taken with her, she could see that, for he had hardly opened his mouth since he had met her, and that was

a sure sign of his interest. But oh my God! No, no. Because what was she in law? His

aunt? Yes, she

supposed so. What a situation. Well, she would see that the Sunday visits would be cut short after this.

And the quicker the girl was persuaded to go back to her own country the better for all concerned. If

only Maggie wasn’t so taken with her. Why was it that whatever Maggie did always

ended in trouble?

She seemed born to create

unrest.

When her son suddenly entered the room, she turned on him, saying sharply, “What do

you want?”

“Grandad says I should help carry the trays.”

“We are nearly finished.”

He looked to where Yvonne had stacked the cups and saucers on a wooden tray and she

was about to

lift it up when he went to her and, taking it from her hands, he said, “Let me.”

“Oh, merci.” She smiled at him. And remembering what Maggie had said to her about

this boy whilst

chastising her about being rude to him, she endeavoured to be friendly, saying now, “I would likely have

failed them.”

“You likely would.” He was smiling back at her and what she thought now was, He could

be nice. He

is handsome.

She walked with him towards the door and here he did her the courtesy of pressing his

back against it

while still holding the tray and allowing her to go before him.

In the room the two women stood watching this; and when the door swung closed behind

them, Maggie

said, “She could be a good influence on him, and they’re both about the same age.” Then she was

startled as Kate rounded on her and in a manner that she had never used before, for she had, in a way,

been very careful to placate her. But now, her voice came almost as a growl, saying,

“Don’t be stupid,

Maggie. Think of the relationship. Have you forgotten that? In a way she’s his aunt.”

Maggie made no reply, for yes, strangely, she had forgotten the relationship. Or had she closed her eyes

to it, hoping for what? Well, what did she hope for? Anything that would keep here

permanently the

light that had come into this house, hoping that its warmth would soothe the desire that had been running

riot in her of late, closing her mind to the fact that there was only one way this desire could be appeased.

She picked up the crumb-tray and brush and began to sweep the table cloth, saying as she did so, “You

take things too seriously, Kate.

That girl would as soon think of Fraser in that way as—’ She couldn’t find a simile in her mind, and

ended, “Oh, what does it matter?” Then she swept the bundle of crumbs on to the

ornamental wooden

shovel, before marching from the room.

Kate stood for a moment longer, and as she did so she provided the simile that Maggie

had omitted by

saying to herself, “As you would of Willy Harding.”

It was half-past nine. The company had long since departed for home, and Hal and Mary

Ellen had

gone up to bed at nine o’clock. They very rarely retired later these days. John had just come in after

doing the last round of the animals. He shivered as he took his coat off, saying, “By! it’s nippy. If it

wasn’t just the beginning of November I would swear I smelt snow in the air.”

Maggie turned, got up from the settle where she had been sitting sewing, and said, “Will I make some

hot boily?”

“That would be nice.” He looked towards where Yvon—ne was sitting in the rocking-

chair to the right

of the fireplace. The chair was motionless, as was her whole body. He went and bent

towards her,

saying, “I’ll bet you’ve never had boily, have you?”

She looked up at him without making any movement and she didn’t answer him, and,

concerned, he

said, “Are you all right?” And after a second she said, “Yes, Jean. Yes, I am all right.”

“I think she’s tired. She’s had little to say all night.” It was as if Maggie were talking about a small child,

and her warm smile towards the girl emphasised this.

“No, I am not tired, Maggie, but I am full of thoughts.”

“You have been thinking.” Maggie placed a part of milk on the hob as she corrected her, then looking

at her again, she repeated, “You have been thinking?”

“Yes, I have been thinking, Maggie.”

John drew a chair up to the fire and he held out his hands towards the blaze and stared into it as he said

quietly, “Well, it’s early days yet. We understand.”

“No, no, you do not, not about my thinking, for it was not of my father. You know I got a letter

yesterday ... well, three letters.

One was from the . how you say in law? “

“Solicitor?”

“Yes, yes, solicitor. There are, I understand, many affairs to settle.

I should be there, in France, to. to see them satisfied, but I am not. not happy to go. “

Maggie had been standing at the table cutting thick slices of bread into chunks. She now brought the

pan from the fire and threw the bread into it, together with a large knob of butter, a spoonful of spice, a