Authors: Yelena Kopylova
“Oh, then when you know her name, we’ll know all about her, because Catton isn’t the
back of
beyond.”
“It’s far enough away from people to mind their own business.”
He had never spoken to her like that before and they were both aware of it. And he turned from her and
went into the scullery and, taking up a pail of water, he emptied half of it into a tin dish before dragging
off his shirt and singlet. And he washed himself, thinking as he did so, I shouldn’t have spoken to her like
that. What’s come over me? And somewhere in the back of his mind he got the answer.
Love had
come over him, and for the first time in his life he was finding it an overpowering
emotion, and
bewildering, because he had never imagined that a man could feel this way. Oh aye, want to take a
woman. And he had; unknown to Kate, he’d had a go two or three times in Hexham.
That’s really where his money had gone, not on his drawing paper as he had made out.
But what he
was feeling now was different. Not that he didn’t want to hold this perfect being that had come into his
life and to love her in a way that a man loved a woman. But there was something more
that he could not
as yet understand. It was, in a way, he considered, a silly feeling, because he felt that it would be a kind
of sacrilege to deface her virginity, she was so beautiful. Yet no, she wasn’t beautiful, her features were
too strong, too defined for beauty. But her eyes laughed, and she had a presence that one would
consider only a princess or someone of high breeding could acquire. She was like
someone from another
world, in all ways from another world.
And of late, this had troubled his nights. So, in order to enter her world it was imperative that he
succeed tomorrow in convincing those people in Newcastle that he was worth something
more than a
labourer in a smelt mill for the rest of his life.
And Mary Ellen? . Mary Ellen in love with him? He scrubbed his face with the rough
coarse towel.
She was always going for him, arguing with him. Fancy being married to Mary Ellen.
God in heaven! He
wouldn’t know a minute’s peace. Talk about a fishwife. She would upbraid him more
than any fishwife
every day of his life. Marry Mary Ellen? Oh, really! Kate had got the wrong end of the stick there.
Wishful thinking. It was laughable. And Mary I Ellen would laugh at it too, he bet, if she knew.
Anyway, he understood Lennie Davison, her master’s grandson, was sweet on her. She
had said as
much herself, at least hinted in that way. Lennie was just turned twenty-one, there had been a great do
for his birthday a short while ago he had been there and she had danced with Lennie more than once in
the barn that night. In fact, who hadn’t she danced with? Oh yes, she was bonny enough in a way, and
sprightly. It was only her tongue that was wrong with her.
Aw, Kate had been imagining things. Anyway, he’d bring her something back from
Newcastle and
make his peace with her.
He had never paid more than four shillings for a pair of breeches and five shillings and six pence for a
coat, but here he was, dressed in clothes that cost him twenty-three shillings, and that wasn’t taking into
account the cravat or the new boots, or the cloth bag he’d had to buy to put his Sunday clothes in. He
had never realized how ordinary his Sunday garb was until that tailor had spread out his range of wares.
It was after he had made his choice that the man had brought out a full suit of clothing. It had been
ordered by somebody who had gone away, he said. Dead, he meant, but it fitted him to a T, except that
it might be just a little tight under the oxters. But he could put up with that, for he had to admit that in this
rig-out he really did feel different. He likened it to a kind of armour ready-made for his meeting this
afternoon. But more so, it would, he felt, impress her: she would see him differently from the
tongue—tied fellow he had presented to her in the market place. Clothes like this did
something for a
fellow, for from the moment he had walked out of that shop in the side street he realized there was a
world awaiting him which was strange and exciting.
He took out the silver-plated case from his pocket and looked at the round watch lying in it It was the
one that Kate had taken from his father’s belt. It had lain glassless and broken for years.
However, a
short time ago he had had it mended, and although it now told him he had plenty of time before he should
reach the Assembly Rooms, it also again created in his mind that muzziness that
disturbed him when
handling it and which he had experienced more than once of late.
Twenty minutes later he was standing on the pavement opposite the Assembly Rooms in
which a concert
was to be held that afternoon. She had hinted, no, more than hinted that she might be
attending it. That
was when he had told her last week that he was to take his drawings to show to people of importance in
the city He recalled that she had smiled and raised her eyebrows and repeated softly,
“People of
importance?” From another’s lips it might have appeared that she was scoffing, but he
couldn’t imagine
her ever scoffing anyone, she was so different. She seemed so alive. Perhaps vital was a better word.
Aye, vital. Yet what did he mean by that? He didn’t know. He only knew that he was in
love for the
first time, and he couldn’t see it ever fading.
He watched the carriages draw up and the people descending and going in to the concert hall. Would
she arrive in a carriage? No his head moved slightly at the thought she wasn’t a carriage type. Not that
he didn’t think of her as somebody superior, but she wasn’t a lady, not in that sense, she wasn’t prim.
He could derive that from her speech. Again, not that she spoke in an ordinary voice, but she didn’t talk
like the lady of the manor, as Hal would have termed it. How was he going to talk to Hal about the
feeling he had for this lass, because Hal couldn’t stand lasses. Look how he went for
Mary Ellen.
But then, when he came to think of it, he hadn’t done that so much of late, he seemed to have eased off
her.
Oh. Oh. There she was, crossing the road. But his heart sank; she wasn’t alone, there was another
woman with her.
Ij Well, what did he expect? That she would be walking the ,: streets of Newcastle by
herself? This
was the city, not Hexham.
He saw that they were laughing together. They had their heads slightly down and their
glances were
slanted towards each other as they drew nearer to him.
“Good-afternoon, Mr... Er....” He took off his cap and nodded, first to her, then to her companion as
he said, “Good-afternoon.”
“This... this is my friend, Miss Freeman.”
“Pleased... pleased to meet you.”
Her friend was smiling but her lips were tight and her eyes were blinking.
“Are you going to attend the concert, Mr... Mr. Er?”
“Greenbank. Rodney Greenbank.”
“Greenbank.” She put her head to the side as if trying to recall something. Then in a
polite tone she said,
“You are taking your drawings for inspection today, I understand?”
“Yes.” He nodded, smiling at her.
And in the ensuing silence it seemed to him that for the first time she noticed his change of dress, because
she looked him up and down before remarking, “Tis a pity you cannot attend the
concert.”
“Yes, yes it is. But another day. Do... do they have them every week?”
She was about to answer when her eyes moved swiftly from him and, looking across the
road, she said,
“There is my father. We must be going. Good-day, Mr. Greenbank.”
“Good-day.” He nodded first to one and then the other. And as he watched them cross
towards the
man on the opposite pavement, he exclaimed to himself in a start of surprise, Why, that’s Mr. Bannaman.
Good God! Her father, Mr. Bannaman? God Almighty! This would set up complications.
What
would Kate say because she hated the very name of Bannaman? Wasn’t he the man who
had got her
son sent away, supposedly helping him? He had never got to the bottom of that story. He had heard of
the smuggling of spirits and things, but you didn’t skip the country for that. But
Bannaman!
Still, what had happened was all in the past, years gone. Odd, but he had been determined he would
ask her her name just before they should part today, but now that he knew it, it made him uneasy.
He hadn’t seen the man for some years. When he was younger, he had come across him
and his
woodmen gathering young fir trees from the thicket above the quarry, and he had only
twice seen him in
Hexham in later years.
But then he himself rarely got into Hexham early on a Saturday ‘cos of his shifts, which was why he
hadn’t come across her either, he supposed. But one thing was clear now: she was the
daughter of a
farmer, but what was also clear, of no small farmer.
He watched her father talking to her, then press her and her friend towards the hall, but not before he
had stopped and looked across the road at him, a hard scrutinizing look.
What would happen when he found out that he was a smelter? He was wise enough to
know that
smelters, like pit men weren’t rated worthy of farmers’ daughters. But let him wait, he wouldn’t be a
smelter much longer. He staightened his shoulders and walked away, but as he did so he wasn’t
unaware that the man had not yet entered the hall but was standing at the door looking towards him.
He went up the steps bordered by iron railings, and knocked on the plain mahogany door.
It was
opened by an equally plain looking maid.
After allowing him in, she said, “What be your name, sir?” And when he told her, she
went to a door
across the small hall and, opening it, she said, “Mr. Rodney Green... bank.” She split his name as if it
were two words.
All eight men in the room turned and looked towards him; then one of them stepped
forward with
outstretched hand, saying, “I’m Mr. MacPherson. How do you do?” Then he looked at
the two bags
that Roddy had laid down on the carpet before extending his own and, with a broad smile on his face, he
said, “Don’t tell me both of those are full of drawings.”
“Oh, no, no,” Roddy said, smiling self-consciously; then stooping, he lifted a flat case from the cloth bag,
muttering as he did so, “I’ve... I’ve been shopping.
“Tisn’t often I’m in the city.”
“Well, come along, and bring the important parcel with you.” And Mr. MacPherson now
led him
towards the other men, adding, “It’s a pity Mr. Mulcaster couldn’t be here this afternoon.
But some of
us have got to work.” He laughed now, and the other men joined in.
“Now this is Mr. Richardson... and Mr. Parker.”
“Pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet you.” On and on it went until the names merely
buzzed through
his head. The introductions finished, he undid the string round the case and slowly lifted one large
drawing after another and placed them on the long table. Some he turned about so that the men on the
opposite side could see them. And then he stood back listening to the low exchanges.
When one man with his head bent low over a drawing said, “Promising.
Very promising,” another to his side growled, “ Promising be damned, Willie. “
At this he felt his face turning scarlet. It was like dire condemnation. But then the man who had spoken
these words looked up at him through narrowed eyes and said, “How long have you been
on this, son?”
His first reaction to this was a slight bristling at having been called son of course the man opposite was
elderly, but he himself looked no boy and he muttered in a stiff tone, “As... as long as I can remember...
far back.”
The man straightened his body, and now his next words brought a warmth flooding
through Roddy that
heightened the colour still further in his face.
“Well,” he said, ‘for my part, I would say you haven’t wasted your time. You’ve got
somewhere. This
roasting furnace is good.
Never missed a brick in it, did you? “ But then he qualified all he had said by adding, “
Not that you
haven’t got a lot to learn. You understand? “
“Yes, I understand, sir.”
Then his bright thoughts of a rosy future were dampened yet again by a voice at the end of the table
saying, “But all these have been done before, don’t let us forget that.”
“Nobody’s forgetting that, Jim’—his champion was speaking again ‘but there’s additions here and
initiative in the suggestions. I know damn fine constructive drawings have been done
before and about
smelting I’ve seen dozens of them, hundreds in fact but this applicant won’t stick to
smelting, will you,
Mr. Greenbank?”
He heard himself muttering, “No, sir,” while wondering about the use of the word
applicant. Then he
was made to wonder still further when his champion went on, “Of the three of them, this lad’s got my
vote.”
“Well, we’ll see, we’ll see.” It was the quiet voice of Mr. MacPherson coming in now,
and he went on
addressing Roddy pointedly, asking, “Have you done any other kind of art, live art, or landscape, or