The Dwelling Place, page 12
For a moment he thought his son was going to collapse over the desk in front of him, and he was forced to say by way of some comfort, ‘Captain Spellman is a good man, just and honest; he is one of the best captains in the Compton Line, in which line, you may know, we hold a great many shares.’
‘Fa…Father.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m always unwell on the sea, I don’t like the sea. Would it not be possible for you to send me somewhere else?’
Lord Fischel looked at his son and there was a sadness within him. There was no fight in the boy; it was as he had always known, their natures had got mixed up. It was strange, too, he thought, that he had whipped his daughter in passion on that hillside, and in this room, passion dead, he had struck her; yet when he had brought his son before him that same night he had not lifted his hand to him. He had even considered not heaping any retribution on the boy other than sending him back to school; yet he had told himself that would be unjust. He did not own to himself at that point the real reason why he was sending him and his sister away.
It wasn’t until late in the afternoon when the tide was full that he stood on the quay in Newcastle in a position from which he would not be observed and watched the Virago, her sails set, her deck alive with scurrying figures, pass down the river; and his heart knew a strange loneliness that brought the truth to the forefront of his mind. Yet still he did not face it squarely and admit that by his supposed justice he had rid himself of their presence for some years ahead, and also made sure that neither of them would encounter their mother; but he looked upon their departure and the incidents that led up to it as the workings of God in answer to his unspoken prayers. God had ways of protecting and assisting those who obeyed his commandments.
BOOK THREE
THE CHILD
One
‘Do you hear what I said, Jimmy?’
‘N…No, Matthew.’
‘I was tellin’ you, lad, why we soak the nave of the wheel in boiling water. Now look, Jimmy.’ Matthew went on his hunkers before the boy. ‘You’ve got to pay attention else you’ll never learn this trade, not in seven years or seventeen. You were as eager as a calf after milk at first but something’s come over you. You tired of it?’
‘Oh, no! No, man…I mean Matthew.’ Jimmy shook his head and his face worked as if he were pulling himself out of a dream. ‘Why, no, Matthew, I’m not tired of it; I like it fine, nothin’ better. I’m sorry, Matthew, I didn’t pay attention. I will after this, I will. I…I heard what you said about getting the dish of the wheel, like testing the mortices for it, an’ I remember what you told me about the dowels yesterday.’
‘But memory isn’t enough, Jimmy lad, if you don’t put your rememberin’ into your hands…You know, I spoilt a spoke this morning on the bench ’cos you didn’t crank the wheel hard enough. Now you’ve got to take a pull at yourself…Aw’—he put his hand on to the boy’s shoulder—‘There’s no need for you to bubble. Lord, I’m only tellin’ you, and quietly; I haven’t clouted your ear or anythin’.’
When Jimmy turned away and hid his face in the crook of his elbow and his shoulders began to heave, Matthew pulled him gently towards him again and said quietly, ‘Look, something’s wrong with you. Tell me what it is. Has me mother been gettin’ at you?’
Jimmy shook his head at this, but when, after a pause, Matthew asked, ‘Is…is something wrong up there?’ Jimmy’s head didn’t move and after a longer pause Matthew made himself say, ‘Is it Cissie?’
The boy’s head now drooped further on to his chest and the tears ran off the end of his nose and on to the back of his hand, but he said nothing; and Matthew, getting to his feet, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and led him into a small storeroom that led to the shop, and there, closing the door behind him, he looked down at him and said grimly, ‘Look, Jimmy, I know Cissie’s unhappy.’ He stopped himself from adding, ‘She’s not the only one,’ and went on. ‘But she’s young and she’ll get over it. You see…well’—he rubbed his hand hard across his mouth—‘there’s things you don’t understand, things a man has to do but…’
Jimmy, sniffing the tears back off his nose with the aid of his thumb, said quickly now, ‘’Tisn’t you, Matthew, ’tisn’t you.’ When he paused, staring into Matthew’s face, Matthew asked quietly, ‘Well, if it isn’t me, what is it?’
Jimmy drew his bottom lip right into his mouth and scraped the teeth over the skin until his lip sprang from under them with a painful sucking snap, and then he put his hand to his head and held it there before he said, ‘She was mated.’
Matthew hadn’t heard aright. He said, ‘What did you say?’
‘She was mated.’ The words were a whisper but Matthew’s shoulders drew back from them. His chin pulled into his neck, his hand came up and his fingers ran through his thick hair. His mouth opened to speak then closed again, and Jimmy said, between sniffs, ‘It was as her and Sarah were goin’ for the milk. She met up with the lady from the Hall—she was the one who had caught Joe nabbin’ the rabbit and brought her horse and kicked down the walls—and the young master and it was in the narrow passage going round the butt near Thornton’s Farm. And she tells Cissie to go back and out of the way, and they were nearly in the openin’ and when Cissie wouldn’t she took her stick to her, an’ Cissie tried to get it away and the young master got in atween them and him and Cissie fell, and Sarah said Cissie lay still…an’ then…’ Jimmy’s eyes lowered, his head drooped, and his voice had a thin, faraway, unreal sound as he ended, ‘He mated her, and the young miss laughed, and our Cissie cries nearly every night.’
Matthew sat down on a box and looked over Jimmy’s head to the row of saws and tools hanging on the wall. He had the appearance of a man who had been winded. It was fully five minutes before he said to the boy who was standing looking at him in bewilderment now, ‘When did this happen?’
‘More than a week since but I didn’t know till Sunday. She’s different, Matthew, quiet, and not bothering about putting the walls up now.’
Matthew rose slowly to his feet, then went through the shop and into the yard. After he had harnessed the horse to the cart he went back to the shop door and said to Jimmy, ‘When Walter comes back tell him I’ve been called out an’ I won’t be long. You sweep out, then clean the stable…right?’
When he drew the horse to a stop on the track below the cave there was no sign of anyone about, but when he walked through the doorway of the half walls he saw her. She was sitting in the corner sorting mushrooms, Nellie in the basket to one side of her and Annie and Charlotte at the other.
Her glance met his for a fleeting second but in that time the whiteness of her face took on a flush. He stood for a moment looking at her bent head, and when the children scampered to him and clung round his legs he lifted Annie up in his arms. But still looking at Cissie, he said, ‘Hello there.’
‘Hello.’ Her voice sounded throaty as if she had a cold.
He groped in his pocket now and brought from it a thin strip of barley sugar and, snapping it in two, he gave one piece to Annie and the other to Charlotte and, putting Annie down, he said to Charlotte, ‘Go to the burn and find me a lucky pebble. It must be a big one mind, flat, brown, and shiny, and if you find it there’s a ha’penny for you.’
Charlotte’s eyes sprung wide and she made an ecstatic high noise like a whistle; then, grabbing Annie’s hand, she ran out of the enclosure, and he was left alone with Cissie.
As he drooped on to his hunkers in front of her her hands went on sorting the mushrooms, the broken ones into a basin, the big flat ones into one straw skiff, the button ones into another; and as he watched her, Jimmy’s tale formed a picture in his mind and he saw the whole thing happening to her; and his teeth, grinding against each other, made an audible noise. He did not ask himself how he was going to broach the subject to her, he had never been one for beating around the bush; he said thickly, ‘Jimmy told me.’
His words acted like a spring, for she bounced up from the ground and ran into the cave, and he sat still on his hunkers gazing at the mushrooms for a moment before he straightened up and followed her. Standing in the doorway, he looked to where she was sitting on the low, wooden bed, her hands under her oxters, her body swaying back and forwards, and he said to her, his voice still a mutter, ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be brought to boot. If it’s the last thing I do he’ll be brought to boot. Lord’s son or no Lord’s son that he is.’
Her body stopped its rocking; her eyes now held fear, but her voice was harsh as she said, ‘’Tis none of your business, leave it be. ’Tis none of your business.’
‘It’s got to be somebody’s business.’
‘Well, ’tisn’t yours.’ She got up from the bed and went to push past him, but his hand on her shoulder checked her, and he said quietly, ‘No, perhaps it isn’t. But who’ll take it on if not me?’
She held his gaze as she replied, her voice calm and flat sounding, ‘’Tis not your place, and you’ll only meet trouble if you make it your business.’
‘That’s my lookout,’ he said; then, taking his hand from her shoulder, he went before her into the enclosure again and, looking about him, spoke as if giving orders back in the shop, saying, ‘Get as many stones as you can up here afore Saturday, an’ I’ll bring Jimmy and Walter over with me. By Sunday night, given luck, we should have them up and a roof over. Now do what I tell you.’ He turned towards her where she was standing in the opening of the cave, her hands gripped between her breasts. ‘Put them all on and make as big a pile as you can.’
She did not answer him, just stared at him, her head moving slightly from side to side; and he turned from her and went down the slope and got into the cart again and drove the two miles to Parson Hedley’s vicarage…
Young Martin let him in. Martin had once been a climbing boy and he had a mass of burn scars to prove it, but he smiled happily at Matthew; and as he went to inform his master of the visitor’s presence Parson Hedley came into the hallway from a far door. Seeing Matthew, he said with evident pleasure, ‘Matthew, what brings you here at this time?’ then added, ‘Nothing wrong I hope? Your father? Has he taken a turn…?’
‘No, Parson, nothing like that; they’re all well. I just wanted a word with you.’
‘Certainly, Matthew, certainly. Just come in here.’ He led the way into a poorly furnished unheated room, saying, ‘Sit yourself down. Now would you like a cup of tea? Mrs Hedley makes one about this time.’
‘No, thank you, Parson; it’s not long since me dinner.’ Matthew had sampled the parson’s tea. It was what he called faint tea, too weak to climb out of the pot, but that he should offer tea to six of them when they were at their class showed the mettle of the man—for his stipend, he understood, was ten shillings a week, and he knew for a certainty a third of that went in coppers and sixpences to those in need. It was a crying shame, when one gave it a thought, that a man like Parson Hedley was worth but ten shillings a week, out of which he had to keep up this rambling cold barn of a house, while Parson Bainbridge not four miles away got a pound and lived on the fat of the land. But then the Fischel Manor came into his parish as did the Conways and the Bentleys, and them well up in trade. And it was said, although he couldn’t believe it, that the Bishop of Durham received over fifteen thousand pounds a year.
‘Now how can I help you, Matthew? Have you got stuck somewhere?’
‘No, Parson, nothin’ like that.’ Matthew smiled as he spoke. ‘I’ve done me composition, although’—he jerked his head—‘the spelling beats me now and again.’
‘It beats us all, Matthew.’
Matthew now nipped his cheek between his thumb and fingers and rubbed hard at the stubble on it before he said, ‘It’s Cissie Brodie, Parson. Something’s happened her.’
‘Oh! Cissie.’ The parson nodded his head, then looked down to the floor to the side of him.
‘You know about it, Parson?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m afraid I do, Matthew.’
‘What’s to be done then?’
Parson Hedley rose to his feet and began to walk up and down as he talked. ‘What could be done has been done, Matthew. It isn’t often that justice comes out of such affairs as this, but Lord Fischel is a just man. He may be somewhat unapproachable but he’s a just man, a man of principle, and he has proved it.’
Matthew also got to his feet. ‘He’s…he’s going to do something for her then?’
Parson Hedley stopped in his walk, his eyebrows moving, upwards. ‘For Cissie, no; but he has punished those responsible. It’s a wonder you haven’t heard. He has banished both his son and his daughter. For her part in the affair, and it was a shocking part indeed, she has been sent to the far Hebrides, to a relative there I understand. As for his son, he himself saw him signed up as a deckhand on a sailing vessel going to the Far East, to trade there. You must admit, Matthew, that it is very rarely that justice for the poor is carried to such lengths. But there, you cannot hope to please everyone, for I understand that he is now being condemned harshly in some circles; for this kind of incident, as you know, is usually taken as a matter of course.’
Yes, Matthew knew this was only too true, and although in a way he was very glad that Lord Fischel had got rid of his daughter, for she had become like a bad omen to Cissie, there was still the possibility that there might be results of the incident; and what then? And this is what he said to Parson Hedley, straight and right to the point. ‘What if she has a bairn, Parson?’
‘Oh, Matthew, Matthew.’ Parson Hedley closed his eyes and wagged his head. ‘Don’t contemplate such a result with six of them there still to see to. It would be disastrous. And up there on that barren place. If they all survive the winter it will be nothing short of a miracle.’
‘I’m with you there, Parson; and I say again, what’s to be done if she’s got with a child? The House should be held responsible.’
‘Oh no! No, Matthew.’ Parson Hedley looked somewhat surprised that Matthew, whom he found so practical and level-headed, should be naive enough to imagine that the House of Fischel would hold itself responsible for the result of a moment’s amusement by one of its members. The head of that House had already done something unprecedented; no man would dare to ask more of him, and certainly not under such circumstances. At the moment, he was much more sorry for His Lordship than he was for Cissie, for had this good God-fearing man not only lost his wife through sin and not of his own making, but his two children also through sin.
He said on a lighter note as Matthew turned from him towards the door, ‘I had a wonderful surprise yesterday. What do you think my brother sent me from London?’
Matthew didn’t answer for a moment; he was angry inside, boiled up, as he put it to himself. But he must speak civilly to the parson for he was a good man. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘A cask of butter?’
‘Ho! A cask of butter. No; something much more valuable to me than a cask of butter. Look.’ He darted back to his desk and, picking up a book, held it out towards Matthew, saying, ‘A new edition of The Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides with Samuel Johnson by James Boswell.’
‘Oh, that’s very nice, sir.’
‘This time next year, Matthew, or even before at the rate you’re going, you’ll be able to sit down and read that entire book; and I promise that when you’re ready I will loan it to you. Now, won’t that be wonderful?’
‘Yes, yes, indeed. Parson.’
As Matthew walked away Parson Hedley stood for a moment at the door and watched him, thinking, He’s a strange young man, Matthew. The promise of the loan of this precious book hadn’t really excited him; he was more concerned about Cissie at the moment. It was right, of course, to think of other people, to be concerned for their welfare, but he should not be concerned about Cissie Brodie to the extent that it should worry him, for was he not betrothed to Rose Watson of the Mill, and this alliance had made everyone happy.
Two
The third morning that Cissie felt sick she knew it was not from an overindulgence either of mushrooms or of turnips or of the sour hard apples that Joe had brought back after his scrounging expedition. She lay on her side with Annie tucked into her back and Charlotte’s arm over Annie touching her waist. In the dim morning light she looked down on Nellie curled up in her basket against the wooden platform, and she thought, Dear God, she’ll be just two when it comes!
The knowledge that she was actually pregnant was no surprise to her. From the day following the nightmarish experience she had known this would be the outcome, and from that moment she had known her life was blighted. No man would ever have her now, not even when she had finally got them all off her hands when she was twenty or twenty-two.
She would have said that there had been no hope in her before this happened that Matthew wouldn’t marry Rose Watson, but would, in spite of the dragging responsibility, take her, together with the lot of them. She had pictured him, unable to do without her, dashing over the fells in the cart and saying to her, saying to them all, ‘Get yourselves in, I’m taking you out of this place, I’m taking you home.’…But not now, with a bairn inside her.
Yet he had done more for her during the past month than he had done in the previous four. Hadn’t he finished the dwelling place and made a surprising good job of it? In fact, it was as near a real house as you could wish, with a fireplace in it and a rough mantel above; and he had done the roof so well with thatch that not a drop of rain came through, even when it poured. And last week he had brought them a bundle of old sacks from the mill to make into towels, and a large thick clippy mat…She had sent that—she always thought of Rose Watson as she—but it was a godsend, because the children could sit on it near the fire and keep warm.
