A Dinner Of Herbs (6 page)

attached to the back of the cottage. She had taken the folder from his coat in which he kept his seafaring

papers together with a silver chain on which was hung a wooden heart, the latter polished so much with

handling that it was as smooth as glass; also a watch in a metal case, but the watch was broken. Back in

the kitchen, she sat on the foot of the saddle and opened one of the two pockets in the belt and took out

a small chamois leather bag. Tipping its contents onto her hand, there spilled over a small heap of

sovereigns. Three had dropped onto the hap covering the boy, and these she picked up

last, counting

twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.

Twenty-three golden sovereigns.

“My! My! He must have saved and saved,” she was muttering aloud.

In the other pocket of the belt was a quantity of silver amounting to three pounds. Now she nodded to

herself as she looked down on the hoard were she to hand this over with the rest of his clothes to the

authorities, what would happen to it? Would the boy get it if he survived? Likely a little of what was left

when it went through them courts and lawyer men. Well, they wouldn’t get their hands

on it.

This was rightly the boy’s. Yet she looked around the room as if her decision had been questioned they

would know he’d have something in his wallet, wouldn’t they? So she’d leave two

sovereigns, which

was a good amount, and a pound’s worth of silver, the rest she would keep for the boy, should he

survive. And if he didn’t? Well, then it would be hers. Some day her own son might

return who

knew?—and would be glad of twenty-one golden sovereigns and two pound’s worth of

silver, for she

herself would not touch a penny of it.

Going now to the fireplace, to the side opposite the round bread oven, she put her hand upwards as if

into the chimney and, gripping a stone, she gently moved it backwards and forwards

before pulling it out.

The encrusted soot on it was proof that it was some long time since it had been removed.

Now, putting

her hand into a space which was larger than the stone she had extracted, she tipped up the handful of

sovereigns and silver, then replaced the stone and, as of old practice, she rubbed her hands round its

edges, spreading the disturbed soot so as not to show a definite line should anyone hold a candle to this

wall.

Now shaking the soot from her hand and sleeve, she went once again into the wash house and cleaned

herself.

Returning to the kitchen, she bent over the boy. He had not moved or made any sign of

life since the pit

men had lain him down there.

Although her herbs were a cure for most things, they had to be drunk or chewed, and so, with some

reluctance, she had followed the advice of Bill Lee and he had passed on the word to the carter going

into Haydon Bridge to tell the doctor there that he was wanted this end, and soon.

She washed the boy’s body, as she had washed the father’s, and put ointment on his

bruises. Although

his face had been covered with blood there was no open wound on him to signify that he had bled, which

was another strange thing. She was still troubled by one other feelings, different from the premonition of

last night, but nevertheless strong, which caused her to ask herself why there should have been such a

distance between where the boy was hanging and where his father was found, all of

twenty-five feet.

Surely they would have been walking together hand in hand. Even if they hadn’t and the boy had been

running ahead, one or the other would have been warned by the fall.

And too, there was the fact that the obvious fall in the top of the quarry measured only about five paces.

One of the pit men had pointed this out and his explanation was, the full force had taken the father with it,

and the boy had tumbled to the side. But she couldn’t see it like that, the distance was too great.

Though what other explanation was there? She didn’t know, only that she had this

strange feeling on

her. Yet again, if there had been evil deeds, and most evil deeds meant robbery, they

would not have left

him with his belt;

most people knew what a sailor carried in his belt, little or much. She was troubled.

The boy stirred and she quickly took his hand and said softly, “There now. There now.”

She felt his

brow. It was hot and sweating as if he were in a fever. Well, exposed to the night air like that he would

be in a fever, and if she could get some medicine down him she would soon cure that. He groaned and

opened his eyes and stared at her, then closed them again and seemed to sleep.

The boy slept on and off for three days. On the third day, whilst awake, he looked at the men lifting a

box from the table and carrying it away, but he showed no interest. This was caused, the doctor said, by

something called concussion it meant that it would take time for him to come round and he had told Kate

that none of her potions would quicken his recovery. She was just to let him lie quiet, and feed him milk

and eggs, beaten up raw for preference, for the white of the egg would help tone his

muscles and get him

on his feet quicker.

She had never heard that before, but nevertheless she did it, beating up the raw eggs and spooning it into

the boy.

Two things happened on the fourth day: the boy sat up, and Kate realized with a kind of horror that he

had forgotten his past life.

When he had sat straight up for the first time and looked about the room, she had said,

“There, there,

me laddie, you’re feeling better.”

And his lips had moved a number of times before he said, “What?” then “Where?” And

she answered

softly, “Well now, you remember me, Kate?

That’s what your da called me, but he made you call me Mrs. Makepeace, you

remember? “ He made

a slight movement with his head and his eyes blinked hard before he again looked round the room. And

then she asked quietly.

“Don’t you remember what happened when the quarry edge gave way and you fell?”

“Fell?” he repeated. Again the slight shake of his head.

Then straightening her back, Kate pulled her chin into her wrinkled neck and, narrowing her eyes, she

said.

“What’s your name?”

“Name?” He looked down on to the quilt. Then his fingers moving slowly to a loose

thread, he pulled

at it before lifting his eyes to hers once again, and his mouth fell agape.

“Your name’s Roddy.”

“Roddy? I don’t know.”

Very softly now she said, “Don’t you remember your da?”

His eyelids nickered. It was as if he was trying hard to recall something. Then he said,

“No.” And his

face puckered as if he was about to cry.

Patting him soothingly she hastened to reassure him.

“There now. There now,” she said.

“It’ll all come back. It’s because you bumped your head.” She stroked his dark hair.

“Don’t worry. Don’t worry. It’ll all come back to you as you get stronger.”

She wondered for a moment whether, if she told him that his father was dead, the shock would revive

his memory. But that might do more harm than good. Far better leave things as they were and to nature;

nature cured all, given the time. It was later in the day when the doctor called and

shocked her still

further. Standing outside the cottage, he said, “He might never recover his memory.

There are such

cases. In his fall he must have hit himself on a vulnerable part of the head; it causes what we call

amnesia.”

“What?” Kate said.

“Amnesia,” he repeated.

“It’s a kind of forgetfulness. Il could cure itself tomorrow, or never. It’s a thing like that.”

“Dear God!” Kate had replied.

And the doctor, being a man who, like herself, had doubts about the Almighty, had

answered jokingly,

“Dear, indeed! The prices He causes one to pay at times.”

He was an odd customer that doctor, but not un likeable No, not un likeable

But she couldn’t say the same thing about her next visitor, for if she hated anybody in this world, it was

Clan Bannaman.

Clan Bannaman was in his forty-fifth year. He was tall and handsome in a rugged kind of way. He was

a farmer who had prospered in all years.

When other farmers were suffering from drought, or floods, the sun seemed to shine on

Clan Bannaman,

for his herds grew and his house got larger. And his nine-year-old daughter was being

educated like a

lady, and his only son, who was eight years old, was boarded out at one of the fancy

schools in Hexham.

Everything had seemed to fall into Clan Bannaman’s lap since he’d come as a young boy

in his teens to

his Uncle John, who was then running Rooklands Farm.

John Bannaman had been liked and respected, although everybody knew that he spent

more time

hunting and drinking than he did on his farm.

And when he died childless and left his one thousand acres of land, mostly poor stuff, being on the hills,

he also left innumerable debts to be settled by his nephew Clan. Yet, from the time Clan Bannaman

came into possession of the estate he seemed to have, as it was said around, the touch, for he not only

married Rosalie Fountain, who came of good family, but whereas most farmers took on

the occasional

buying and selling of horses for the mines and mills, he did so in a big way.

It was thought that the dowry Rosalie Fountain had brought with her must have been

scraped together

by her family, for although they were of good class they weren’t wealthy by any means.

But a dowry she

must have brought.

There were three people, four at the most, who knew that Clan Bannanman’s rise to

prosperity didn’t

originate from his wife’s dowry.

There had been six at one time in the know, but one was now dead, another was in

America.

Kate held the door in her hand and stared at the man, and when he smiled at her and said,

“Well, hello,

Kate. Aren’t you going to ask me in?” she said flatly, “No, no, I am not.”

The smile slid from his face, “That’s a pity then, Kate,” he said.

To this she answered, “You can’t frighten me, not any more.”

“You’d be suprised, Kate.”

“Aye, I would that.”

“I have friends over there.”

“You might have, or you might not have, but America’s a very big place, and he’s moved on.”

“How do you know that? You have no way of telling.”

“You’d be surprised.” A thought coming into her head, she said, “We had a visit from a sailor, poor

man, who died underneath the quarry fall the other night. Perhaps you heard of it?”

“Aye, I heard of it.” His tone was stiff.

“Well, you might remember him, his name was Peter Greenbank. He was a lad who was

born and bred

here and worked here until about ten years or so ago. Well, since then, he’s travelled the world, and

America was one of his spots, and he brought me news, news I’ve been waiting to hear

for a long time.”

She made herself smile a grim smile.

“So it’s my turn now to say, be careful, Mr. Bannaman, be careful for where it might take a lifetime to

track down my son, it would take only an hour or so for the justice to come out from

Newcastle.”

They stared at each other for a matter of seconds before he said, “And what about your own skin,

Kate? Harbouring’s an offence.”

“Oh, I’m past caring about that. Me time’s almost on me;

it wouldn’t matter. But you, you’re in your prime. With your fine house and your great farm and your

standing in the county, oh, Mr. Bannaman, you have a lot to lose, both you and your

henchmen. And I’m

wa ming you now, don’t try anything on me like you did on Les Carter. “

“I had nothing to do with Les Carter.” His voice was grim.

“You know who was to blame there.”

“Your word, that’s all, your word. An’ I’ve had me doubts about that this many a year.”

“If it hadn’t been for me, your lad would have swung.”

“So you say, but I think different, and so did Pat. Anyway, I’ll tell you this: I’ve left word that if I die in

any other place but in me bed, then they’ll have reason to question a couple of men. I’ve left this word in

two places and they’re both in sealed letters, sort of wills. My Pat, as you know, could read an’ write.

He was no thick-skinned smelter, or yet a drink-sodden lead or coal miner, he was a

young fellow with

brains. An’ you used them, an’ played on them.

But one thing he did afore he got away was to tell me what to do just in case, and I did it.

So, Mr.

Bannaman, I’m just tellin’ you. “

Clan Bannaman looked down at the ground now and, shaking his head slowly, he said,

“You don’t give

me credit for one decent thing, do you, Kate?”

“I speak as I find and I see nothin’ in you to give you credit for. I even suspect your every step you

take, so I ask what you are doin’ round here miles away from your mansion?”

“Something very suspicious, Kate, I’ve brought my man to gather young saplings of pine and fir. I’m

starting a plantation, I’ve got permission from James Mulcaster. So what devilry can you pick out of

that? Eh?”

“Firs and pine? Why have you to come this far? They’re thin enough this end. They’re

just startin’ to

grow up on the top.”

“Thin, you say, they’re choking each other up there. They’ll grow like spindles if they’re left as they