Authors: Yelena Kopylova
master, it did, for if Hal went out of the door to bring some wood or peat in, it was at his heels, or
whining until he came back.
She saw that Hal was carrying something as usual. He had kept them going with both
milk and food for
weeks. She must ask him about this woman who cooked such good pastry.
She moved from the window and when Hal entered the room she was sitting at the table
chopping some
onions on a board.
“Hello, there,” he said.
“How’s things?”
“As you left them,” she answered; then turned her head slowly to where Kate was
nodding in a chair by
the fire. When the dog came up and nuzzled her she patted its head, saying, “He’s turning into a fine
beast.” And he answered, “He should do; he eats like a horse.” And to this she said, “You didn’t ride
over this mornin’?”
“No. I felt like a walk. And anyway, I can leave her out in the field now. She’s had
enough of late and
her coat is lookin’ shaggy. We all need a rest now and again. And having said that, what time did you
get up?”
“Oh, not long ago.” She looked now at the parcel on the table. From its shape-she
guessed what it
was: “Another pie?” she said.
“Aye. Annie brought it over last night, two of them in fact.”
Annie, he had said; before, it had always been, one of the farm lasses.
“Which one is she?” she asked.
“Oh, the youngest. I say the youngest, she must be kicking forty. But you can’t help
feeling sorry for
her. She’s glad to escape, I think, and open her mouth, because she daren’t do it in the house. And she
chatters away like a magpie; used to talking to herself most of the time by the sound of it, because I leave
her at it.”
“Does she do for you?”
He turned and glanced at her, a twinkle in his eye now as he said, “Aye, for most things.”
And when she lowered her head and went on with her chopping, his voice altered slightly and he said,
“She’s a canny soul. I give her two shillings a week, and by! you would think I was
giving her gold dust.
I don’t think she tells the others what she gets, for her father sends her over in payment for the odd jobs
I do for him now and again.
Payment in kind, so to speak, ‘cos he won’t part with a ha’ penny He must have a tidy
packet put by. I
wondered the other day what would happen when he kicks the bucket. I’d like to bet
they’ll all go stark
starin’ mad with spending. I’d like to see it. In fact I’d take them all into Hexham in the cart. “
She looked at him now. He was pouring the milk from the can into the jug, and he was
smiling broadly.
He looked nice. She didn’t say attractive. She could imagine this Annie liking to work for him. That
was another facet of his, kindness. Why hadn’t she recognized before that he was kind
underneath?
He took off his outer coat and hung it on the nail behind the door, then came back and sat at the table
opposite to her, saying but not smiling now, “You know who I saw on me way over here?
They were on
the Allendale road, going towards Rooklands. The two Bannamans, the son and her, the
daughter. And
that’s the second time I’ve seen them within the last few weeks. They’re after
something’, I’d bet me
life.
The place has been up for sale for months now but there’s been few takers, so I
understand. I wonder
what they’re lookin’ for? They’re not makin’ that journey from right beyond Corbridge
for nothin’.
Perhaps they’re lookin’ for something that the excise men couldn’t find. Yet, they found enough in that
tunnel that was under the cellar.
Anyway, I’ll keep me eyes open. If I see them on that way again I’ll know it isn’t
sentiment that’s
bringin’ them, although, as I remember, she did say she’d go back. “
“I’d leave them alone, Hal, if I were you. It’s all over and done with.” Her voice was quiet.
“Aye, it might be on the surface, but not in that one’s mind. Nor yet in me own, to tell you the truth.”
As she raised her eyes to his she saw that tight look about it. And she recalled that this man had hanged
someone, or at least, as he said, seen that he hanged himself. For a moment she forgot the kindness he
had shown of late, and even his thoughtfulness for this Annie woman, whom she was
beginning to feel
curious about, and there returned to her the old feeling she’d had for him, for underneath he was still the
old Hal with a bitterness still in him that would never be erased.
He startled her somewhat by saying, “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Well’—he pursed his lips ‘like you used to do at one time.”
She looked away from him for a moment before facing him again and saying, “Well,
truthfully, for a
moment you did look as you used to do, full of resentment, ready to hit out.”
He stared at her for a second or so; then leaning across the table he brought his face down to hers,
saying softly, “We are what we are, Mary Ellen, and nobody knows what goes on inside
deep under the
skin.
After all, we only see what we want to see in each other. “ He paused before
straightening himself, then
adding, “ People judge you by the look on your face or what rolls off your tongue; they don’t want to
look deeper and see why you look like that. An’ why should they?
Anyway’—he drew in a sharp breath ‘there’s no use me standing here, I’ve got to go into the town. I
still haven’t got me bull, not the one I want. “ He laughed now, saying, “ A funny thing happened the
other day. I called in at old Frankland’s, you know beyond Catton. I understood he had a young bull
for sale. Well, there was something about it that just didn’t take me fancy and when I said so, but not in
so many words, he said, “What you lookin’ for, a close relation, somebody like
yourself?” Then he
bellowed like his bull, and I joined him and said, “That’s it, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“What are you lookin’ for in an animal then?”
“Oh, I couldn’t put me finger on it. A quiet fellow, I’d say though. A quiet fellow.”
“Huh!” She laughed. Then it certainly won’t be like you. “ Like lightning now he turned on her, saying,
“ There you’re wrong, Mary Ellen, there you’re wrong, as you’ve always been about me.
“ And on this
he went down the room, muttering, “ I’ll get the wood in and see to the water. “
He was in the scullery before she rose, calling to him in a conciliatory tone, “I can
manage, Hal.”
“One day I’ll take you at your word,” he answered. Then the door banged, and she sat
down again.
And she wasn’t surprised when Kate’s voice came from behind her saying, “And he
could well do that
one day.
Think on it, lass. Think
It was towards the middle of April. Hal had got his bull. He had ridden over to another farm over
towards Whitfield and as he stroked the ringed nose he had said in an aside to it, “I’ve had to pay
through that for you, remember that me young buck.” And the farmer had countered, “I
could have got
more for him in the market. If you don’t want him it’s all the same to me.”
“Let’s stop this sparrin’,” Hal had said; ‘we’re both satisfied, and we know it. I’ll collect him the
morrow, and on foot, because as you see me pony’s nervous at the sight of him. “
He was aware that the farmer knew all about him and considered him too cocky, too big
for his boots,
just as a number of others did. Well, people would think what they wanted to think, it didn’t upset him.
But there were two things that were upsetting him at the moment: Kate was near her end definitely this
time; and last week there had come a letter from the big fellow to her, saying that he hoped to come
through soon to see her. The first worry had a sure end. The second, he wasn’t so sure of at all. What
would happen when he walked in that door and saw the result of his fling, and looked on Mary Ellen as
she was now? For the girl had gone and in her place was a comely young woman, a very
comely young
woman.
They had got on fine together these past few months. Once or twice they had scratched
the surface and
gone back into the old ways, their tongues thrusting at each other. But it had been over and done with in
a minute.
What if the other one saw her differently now and wanted to take her back with him?
He had come up from the steep valley bank and had reached the Allendale road, but then decided to
divert and take a short cut home.
With this in mind he turned his pony into a narrow path in a thicket until they came on to open country.
And there he put it into a trot.
But he hadn’t gone very far, when he drew it to a walk again. He had come to a broad
track and along
it in the far distance and disappearing into a patch of woodland, he saw a horse and trap with two figures
sitting in it. Although he couldn’t recognize them or the trap, he felt instinctively they were the Bannamans
on their way again to Rooklands.
Now why? He looked first one way and then the other. His desire a moment ago was to
get back, not
only home, but to go later to the cottage to see how Kate was faring and, naturally, to see Mary Ellen,
because he was never at peace with himself unless he was in her presence. Yet, what
were those two
going along there for? How many times had they been there when he hadn’t seen them?
But this was the
third time he had come across them.
He did not pause to think any more but now he himself took the track that led to the
Bannamans’ farm.
The farmhouse was an imposing building. It was stone built, two-storied with attics
above. But what
were more imposing still were the outhouses. There was a fine range of them: stables, a big tack-room, a
fine barn, a granary store, and a set of dairy buildings that would take some beating. He had been round
the place a number of times, but had never encountered anyone. He had peered in the
windows and
seen the high-ceilinged well-shaped rooms, and the mice scurrying round them. He had
been down in the
cellar and seen the tunnel that the authorities had unearthed. And so again he wondered if those two
were looking for something that the authorities had missed.
He left his pony tethered to a tree some distance down the road from the main opening to the farmyard.
There was a high wall bordering the yard and he walked along under cover of it, then he paused before
stepping round it and into the yard, and looked towards the arch.
The trap was standing in the yard, but there was no sign of anyone. He walked towards
the trap, not
stealthily, but openly. The horse turned its head and looked at him, and the wind lifting its long mane,
brought it over its eyes. It tossed its head now and Hal laid his hand on its neck and stroked it to quieten
it. Then he walked on, asking himself the while why he was doing this. But the answer he got was, he
didn’t really know. Perhaps it was to gain a little more satisfaction from their downfall.
The last time he had seen her face to face she had looked like the devil, and it was then, as he had
recalled earlier, that she prophesied she would be back. But she hadn’t meant flying visits just to look
round; no, she had meant she’d come back here to live. Well, that would need money,
wouldn’t it? And
it must be money or valuables she was after now. He’d stake his life on it.
He did not ask himself what would happen when they should come face to face again for
he considered
he had just as much right being here as anyone else: the place was up for sale. Anyway, sightseers still
came and looked round it. It was the objective of a good Sunday walk.
He walked along the front of the house and peered in the window of the room in which he had stood on
that fatal day, at least fatal for Bannaman.
He made himself turn slowly when a voice came from behind him saying, “What are you
looking for?”
They were standing some feet from him, the brother and sister. There was no
resemblance between
them; in fact, he could have been the woman and she the man, for he had a thin refined look, whereas her
face was strong. And her expression was dark and grim now.
“Just lookin’ round like yourselves,” he answered quietly.
“You have no right here.”
“Don’t be stupid, woman.” His tone was suddenly scathing.
“Everybody has a right here now, everybody. What’s the matter with you? Have you lost
your mind?
Can’t you recall what’s happened to you, the lot of you? It was a long time in comin’, but justice will
out. He got off too lightly, your father. He should have swung, like the other one.”
He hadn’t meant to say any of this, but there it was, out. And her face was livid as she cried at him,
“The other one you referred to didn’t swing, not by his own hand, he didn’t. Did he?”
“Well, whose hand did you imagine did it?”
“He hadn’t the guts to take his own life. If he had he would have done it straightaway. He was made to
do it, wasn’t he?”
“If you say so, miss, if you say so.” The sneer in his voice also became apparent on his face.
“Now I’ll ask you a question,” he said.
“What are you doin’ here? Saying a last farewell? No; for if that’s the case, you’ve said it two or three
times already lately, haven’t you? Anyway, I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to