Authors: Yelena Kopylova
anything like that?”
Roddy paused, swallowed, then said, “Not much sir, just a few sketches of the hills and things.”
“No portraits?”
“No, no. Very few I’m ... I’m not very good at that kind of thing.”
“You never know. Art has many springs feeding the river so to speak.
Anyway, gentlemen’—he looked around at the other members seated at the table ‘we’ll
discuss this
further after we have a cup of tea with the ladies. “
A cup of tea with the ladies. He was hot under the collar.
But the cup of tea with the ladies turned out to be a very jolly affair, and very informative because he
discovered that all of the six women present were artists in different ways; and further, that they were all
people of means; and further still, to his surprise he learned that he was one of three applicants whose
work they were considering for sponsorship, which meant that they would pay his board
and lodgings for
two years to study art either here or in London. It was a gesture to the un privileged as one less than
tactful lady had pointed out to him; also, that they were aware that here and there among the working
class were talents that should be furthered.
When an hour later he left the house he didn’t know whether he was pleased or
otherwise. The meeting
had been an eye-opener for which Mr. Mulcaster had not prepared him. He had thought
he would be
meeting two or three men who were interested in engineering drawings. Yet on the other hand the
thought of being trained properly for two years was like the revelation of a dream that he had never really
dreamed but which had lain deep in his mind since he had first taken up a pencil.
Anyway, he wouldn’t
know the outcome for another month. One other thing that had disturbed him in the
meeting was the
knowledge that he was wearing the wrong-coloured suit. This had come from a very
talkative lady who
apparently did portraits and, after eyeing him for sometime, had said, “You would make good material:
you have very good bones; but your clothes are wrong. You should never wear grey, not
that shade
anyway, it’s much too light for your colouring; if I were to paint you, you would be in rough working
clothes.”
Was that how she had seen him, Miss Bannaman? Someone who looked like a workman
in spite of his
gentlemanly dress?
Oh, he’d get himself away back home. He didn’t like Newcastle, well, not today he
didn’t. If he had to
live in it he might get to know it better. But first of all he must go and buy something for Kate, a head
shawl or something like that to placate her. But was she a person you could placate? No.
He shook his
head at the suggestion. And when she knew that the girl he was sweet on was
Bannaman’s daughter,
then the upset he had already caused her saying he had no feelings for Mary Ellen would be nothing to
that news.
Why were things turning out like this?
It came to him as something of a surprise that he didn’t like being disturbed, and that up till now his life
had run smoothly; at least, until today, he had known where he stood. But now, be-
damned if he did, in
any way.
Mary Davison said, “Put a shawl over your bonnet, the wind’s high. And look, if you’re going to get
away, get away or else you’ll not be back afore dark. On the other hand, though, if you have a mind to
wait, Lennie should be back at any time now and he’ll take you over in the cart.”
“Aw, ma’am, I know me way blindfold. And anyway I won’t call home because I’ll see
me da the
morrow, but Jimmy said he found Kate none too well, so I feel worried.”
“Well, I can understand that. She shouldn’t be there on her own at all. She should have moved in with
your father, it would have been company for him since your mother died.”
Mary Ellen said nothing in answer to this, she only knotted the head shawl tighter under her chin, thinking
as she did so, What a daft thing to say that old Kate should have moved in with her
father. Kate would
never leave that cottage. And anyway, who’d have looked after Roddy? As for moving in
with her
father, her father couldn’t put up with himself, so irritable he was these days, never mind putting up with
Kate and her set-in-ways. Oh, Mrs. Davison was a good mistress but she did say daft
things, things
without thinking. It was, she supposed, because she liked company, the more the merrier.
She should
have had a great big family whereas she’d only had Lennie’s father.
She was indeed a loving kind of woman, but she didn’t think.
“Now here’s the basket. That piece of pork should grease her innards.
An’ there’s a loaf there, and half a dozen real eggs, not like thoses pips from her bantams.
And there’s
a bag of cheese bits and a sugar bun. That should keep her going. Aye, it should. “
Mary Ellen looked softly at the small tubby woman and she had the desire to put her arms around her
and kiss her. She often had this desire, but you didn’t give way to things like that with your mistress. So
what she said was, “Thanks. Ta, ma’am. Kate’ll appreciate it, she will,” at the same time thinking what
Kate would say which would likely be, “Does she think we starve over here? You tell her I have
plenty.” Yet when later it was time to leave, she would add, “And thank Mrs. Davison for me. She’s a
kind woman when all’s said and done.” But likely as not she would add, “Although she
hasn’t enough up
top to keep her bonnet on.”
Mary Ellen took up the basket and went out of the kitchen, across the roughly paved
farmyard and onto
the puddled ground that led to the gate. She didn’t bother where she walked because she had already
lifted the waistband of her skirt high enough for the hem to come above her boots, the tops of which
reached the bottom of her calfs.
Her legs were thin; in fact, she was all thin. This troubled her. At eighteen years of age other lasses had
busts; some had showed from when they were fourteen, but hers had never seemed to
grow. Grow she
did, but as she told herself, instead of going a bit outwards, she went upwards. It wasn’t good for a lass
to be too tall, not taller than a lad, the one you hoped to marry. But she wasn’t taller than Roddy, she
was just about his height. Of course, that was now. If she only stuck this way. Fanner Davison and Mr.
Archie, his son, both said that she had talked herself skinny. They laughed about her and teased her.
But Lennie didn’t. Lennie always took her part, maintaining that she could beat them any day at least
with her tongue, and with most jobs on the farm except the horse breaking, and she was going to tackle
that an’ all.
Funny about the farm and the Davisons. They seemed more her family than her father
did. Even when
her mother was alive, she hadn’t felt the same warmth from her as she did from her
mistress. The farm
and all in it was home to her, and she loved them all.
When she said she loved them she did, but not in the way Lennie wanted her to love.
Lennie was nice
and he was kind, he was like his grandmother in that way, but also like her, he said and did the daftest
things. Slap-happy, Kate called them both. But it was nice to be slap-happy; she wished she could be
slap-happy. She was now and again when she could forget about the things she wanted
most in life and
which now troubled her more and more in the night. When she reached the cottage she
found Kate lying
on the bed and asked anxiously of her, “You feeling bad, Kate?”
“No, I am not feeling bad. I can lie down, can’t I, without feeling bad?” Then the acid tone changing she
said, “Why do you come, lass, it isn’t your time off?”
“Missis sent me with some odds and ends.”
“Thinks I’m starvin’ again? How does she imagine that I’ve kept alive all these years and kept that big
‘un. By the way, what time is it?”
Mary Ellen turned and looked at the wooden-faced clock on the mantel shelf and she
said, “Turned
half-past six.”
Kate now raised herself up on her elbow; then sliding her legs over the edge of the bed, she stretched
her gnarled arms slowly, saying, “Well, now you’re here, take your things off and sit
yourself down.”
“I won’t be able to stay long, Kate. It’ll get on dusk shortly.” She turned to the table and began to
empty the basket, asking now in an off-hand manner, “What time did Roddy say he’d be
back?”
“He didn’t say, lass, he didn’t say.”
Kate’s tone made Mary Ellen turn and look towards her for a moment before she walked
back to the
bed again and, sitting down beside Kate and taking her hand, she said, “What’s the
matter? Something
wrong?”
“Aye, you could say that, lass, something’s wrong.”
“You worried about... about him going away if they like his drawings?”
“Well, a little bit I was, but... but not so much. Tisn’t that, ‘tis about you I’m worried.”
“About me? Mary Ellen pulled herself up until she was looking down on the wizened
form of her very
dear and beloved friend and she said, “ Worried about me, why Kate? I was never better.
I have a job
in a lifetime, and they couldn’t be kinder to me if I was their own. You know that. “
“I know, I know all that.” Kate’s head was nodding.
“It isn’t the present I’m thinking about, ‘tis the future, your future and what goes on in that mind of
yours. Well, you know me.” She turned her head now and looked into Mary Ellen’s
questioning eyes
and said, “Open and straight forward has always been me way of life, no beating about
the bush, so I’m
going to ask you now, do you like Lennie?”
“Lennie?” Mary Ellen screwed up her face.
“Lennie Davison?”
“How many Lennies are there in this valley for God’s sake? He’s the only one I know
of.”
“Yes, you’re right. Well, of course I like him. I’ve sort of ... well, seems to me I’ve been brought up
with him.”
“Now don’t tell me Kate closed her eyes and wagged her hand before her face as she
said, “ That you
like him as a brother, ‘cos it’s well known he doesn’t like you as a sister, the way Here she paused and
drew some spittle into her mouth; then opening her eyes, she turned her head sharply and again looking
into Mary Ellen’s face she ended, “Roddy does.”
With pain evident in her eyes, Kate watched this dear, good lass, as she thought other, sink slowly down
onto the bed; she watched her pressing her joined hands between her knees and gaze at
them as she
muttered, “He... he doesn’t think of me as a sister, Kate.”
“He does, lass.”
Presently, Mary Ellen turned her head slowly but did not look fully at Kate as she said,
“What makes
you say that?”
“Because .... because, lass, he said as much in plain words. He said as much.”
Mary Ellen rose from the bed and walked slowly to the table and began to rearrange the things on it:
first, the meats she had brought with her; then, the two china mugs, the bread board and the cheese
platter;
she moved them round as if fitting them into a puzzle. And now her voice scarcely above a whisper, she
said, “Why did you tell me this, Kate?”
“Because ... because I thought you should know, lass. You will sooner or later. He’s got his eyes on
somebody else.”
Mary Ellen jerked round now and her voice small and almost like a whimper, she said,
“No!”
“Yes, lass, aye.”
“He said so?”
“Aye, afore he went yesterday. We had words, the first real words, aye, the first real words we’ve ever
had.”
The fire was burning low. Mary Ellen looked at it; then she picked up some turfs from a straw basket to
the side of the open hearth and piled them onto the low embers. She did this swiftly as if she was
following a routine that she carried out every day. And now taking up two pieces of wood she knelt
down and pressed them, one at each side of the fire as if to give1 support to the whole.
Then dusting her
hands, she got off her knees and, going to the table, she stood there for a moment before asking, “Who is
she? Do I know her?” ] “No. Nor me, lass. He doesn’t himself, I think.”
“What!” Mary Ellen’s voice was sharp now and loud, and she repeated again “What!”
“Somebody he’s just caught a glimpse of. And that being’ | the case, I tell me self it’ll pass. I hope to
God it does, | anyway. But I know I’m right in fbrewamin’ you because if Ji it had come from him and as
a surprise it would have been ;
worse. You’re better to be fortified against it, especially you feeling the way you do, for the sun has
shone out of him from the first day you saw him. “ ;
90 ;
There was a lump the size of a green apple in her throat, yet her eyes were dry. She lifted up her head
shawl and, putting it on, she walked towards the bed, her eyes blinking rapidly now as she said, “Will...
will you be all right?”
Kate’s hands came out towards her and caught hers, and she gripped them tight before
she spoke.
There’s an old sayin’ about there being many more fish in the sea than the one that
slipped the line, but
it’s always the one that slipped the line you think about, not about the rest, at least for a time. But then
comes the day when your line goes out again and there’s a different fish on it. And