the maltese angel (25 page)

"I'm going to ask you something. Is your debt so great that you're going to repay him with your life? You're not bonded; nor am I. We could up tomorrow and go and get work elsewhere."

"Where? Where? Tell me."

Her head to the side now, she kicked the toe of her boot into a stiff tuft of grass. But he was holding her again, and both his eyes and his voice held a plea as he said, "Believe me. Patsy, there is no other in my life but you. The master had a feeling for his wife which, at one time, I couldn't understand. I used to think it was a mania. She was a lovable creature, but his feelings for her were more like

adoration.

Well, I've come to understand a little how he must have felt, for, Patsy, the very sight of you warms me and wakes such a stirring in me that I want to throw everything to the wind and do as you say, get away

. run with you into a life that is entirely ours, free from duty or guilt or being ungrateful. And so I ask you. Patsy, to wait just a little longer. I've got the feeling that things are coming to a head in one way or another. Yes, believe me, I have. A strong feeling

tells me that I shall be forced to come into the open. And so then, if we can't marry, we'll leave. That's all. "

She stared at him again, but softly now; and then in a quiet voice, she said, "He'll never let you leave, Carl. Apart from any feeling he has for you, you run that place. He's never taken a real hand in it since the missis went. He makes decisions, oh yes, but only when you put them to him. Oh no, he'll never let you go."

"Well' he nodded at her 'if he wants me to stay so badly he'll let me take the wife I want to have. So that's all about it. Come on!" And with his arm around her shoulders now, they walked down the narrow field path that would give on to the bridle path about a quarter of a mile distant. But before they reached it, he pulled her to a stop

again and, putting his arms about her, he kissed her long and hard; and her returning the pressure of his body caused them to sway together for a moment before

she withdrew herself from him. But as they walked on, it wasn't with her head held high, it was with it leaning against his shoulder ..

And that is how Ward saw them as he entered the field path. He had sat on his horse on a bank some distance from the path, and had kept them in sight ever since they left the stile. He had known there was a

liking between them, but he had never thought it would come to

anything: surely the boy, as he still named Carl in his mind, would have more sense; had he not, over the years, imbued in him a feeling of class through his treating him as a member of his household? No;

but he had thought he would never let himself down to the level of any member of the Hollow tribe. They were workers of the lowest class, all of them. The fact that Patsy's father was the cowman and her brother the yard boy should have emphasised the plane to which he was

stooping.

His Fanny had always maintained that the boy was well bred; and his growing had seemed to prove it, for in voice and manner and

intelligence, he was far above the ordinary. He had become a great reader, a talent with which he had been imbued by his dear Fanny and which, he thought, should have helped.

Well, he wasn't going to let any little Irish chit from the Hollow alter the plans he'd had in mind for some time now. He had always

looked upon Carl as a son, and a son he determined he should now become

.

But what if he left? He was a free man.

He wouldn't dare; he owed him too much to walk out.

But the question persisted: what if he did? How would he ever replace him? He realised he had left almost the entire running of the farm in the boy's hands for this long time. Eight years? Was it eight years since he had lost his beloved? What had he done in that time? His

eyelids blinked rapidly as he thought back. It seemed that he had

spent the time erecting fences around his land and keeping a watch on the girls. He had taken them to school and brought them back. He had trusted no-one else to do this; and when the time had come for Jessie to leave he made Angela leave too for, as he told himself, he couldn't be in two places at once. And now he would allow them to leave the farm only on a Saturday, when he would take them into town. Carl

always accompanied them and saw to the delivery of the produce to the wholesale trader.

On the odd occasion he had allowed Patsy to accompany them. But not during this past year.

His daughters had never been to Newcastle. As for attending a play or a variety show, they never knew about such things. And what was more, he had stopped them dancing.

One day he had found them, with their hands joined, doing the steps their mother had taught them. Perhaps it was because, compared with her, their actions looked cumbersome. Yet, had that been the truth it would have applied only to Jessie, not to Angela, who was so much like her mother that, at times, even now, he found it painful to look on her; at others he would hold her close, hugging her tightly to him, trying to recover the essence of his beloved Fanny.

He pressed a heel against the horse's flank, and it began to move down the hill. By the time he reached the farmyard there was no sight of either Carl or Patsy;

but coming from the direction of the front door and accompanied by Jessie and Angela was Frank Noble, and the curate hailed him in his usual smiling way, calling, "Oh, I'm glad I've caught you. I just dropped in to say I'm looking for an audience for tomorrow night: I'm putting on a real good show. A friend in Newcastle has brought me two dozen ... mark you, two dozen new slides; with what I've got, they'll run for an hour and a half, or more." He now looked from one girl to the other, saying, "I think I'll have to charge an entrance fee, don't you?"

Laughing, Jessie answered him: "Well, I can promise you I'll pay with left-over pies from Annie's last baking."

Then bending forward to look round the curate at her sister standing now by his side, she said, "What'll you pay with, Angela?"

"Acorns."

"Do you hear that?" said Frank Noble.

Ward had dismounted and his reply was, "It's far too much, to my mind."

"May we go, Daddy?" Angela had now taken her father's arm, and as he answered her he looked at Frank Noble.

"I don't see why not," he said, 'although the man's whole show is so inane I'm surprised you waste your time looking at it. "

"It's the way of the world' Frank was nodding seriously towards Jessie now 'ingratitude. Ingratitude. I'm so used to it that I no longer

retaliate. I only hope the good Lord chalks it up in my favour."

"Have you had anything to eat?"

"Oh yes. I've had two shives of Annie's treacle tart;

I've had a slice of her currant bun cake, lathered with butter as thick as the cake, and I've had three cups of tea with real cream in it. To tell you the truth, that's all I come for. "

"Oh, I've known that for some time," said Ward.

"And by the way, hasn't Annie given you anything to take back for the children?"

"She offered, but I refused."

"You had no right to."

"I have every right to; my children are being spoilt. Every time they come here they go back laden, and when they know I've been here they expect me to come back with my pockets stuffed. Well, I've put a stop to it. Speaking seriously now, Ward, I just had to: there is a limit to receiving as there is to giving. Well, now' his voice changed

'after that little sermon, I must be off;

but I'll see you ladies tomorrow night, eh? "

"Yes. Oh, yes, we'd love to come."

"I'm going over now to Forest Hall to see if I can persuade Lady Lydia to come; or failing that, get the

young master to persuade her. He's a great ally, is Mr. Gerald ..

Well, see you tomorrow night. "

Ward now looked round the farmyard, then said, "You haven't walked?

Where's your horse? "

"He's slightly lame. Anyway, it's Sunday and he needs a rest; and the walk does me good."

Ward shook his head, then stood beside his daughters watching the

ailing parson stride out of the gate, and as he wondered how long was left to him, he experienced a tinge of envy for the serenity that

emanated from this proven friend ..

The girls had gone to the sitting-room: Angela was seated in the corner of the couch, her feet tucked under her, and looking like an outsize doll, her shining, straight black hair drawn back into two thick

plaits, emphasising the alabaster tint of her skin. She could really have been a replica of her mother, except that her eyes were a clear grey, not a dark brown.

Jessie was placing some pieces of coal on the fire with a large pair of tongs, and Angela was saying, "I wonder if the Lord of the Manor has grown out of making sheep's eyes. It must be over a year since we saw him."

"Don't be silly." Jessie dusted her hands one against the other; then took a handkerchief from her dress pocket and proceeded to wipe her fingers, before taking a round tapestry frame from a nearby table.

Then she sat down at the other end of the couch, saying, "That's a silly term sheep's eyes."

"No sillier than you saying, " Don't be silly". You're always saying that to me, you know, Jessie, " Don't be silly"." But then she laid her head back into the cushions before adding, "Perhaps I am silly after all, because I think silly things, fairy-tale things, things that could never happen, and things that might happen, frightening things.

Do you think frightening things, Jessie? "

_. _:. ;^U^^^^B There was a pause before Jessie answered quietly,

"Yes, sometimes. I mostly dream them."

"What about?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell you." Jessie now thrust the needle into the canvas, pulled it through, then thrust it back again before going on,

"Dreams never really enter into reality; dreams are outrageous things, fantastic, impossible things." Her hands slowly laid the frame on her knee, and she sat staring towards the fire until she was jerked back into an awareness of her sister by Angela saying, "Don't you think we lead a very restricted life here, Jessie? I sometimes feel that the walls of the farm and all those fences are like bars."

Jessie's mouth was agape. She could not have been more startled if her sister had used obscene language, and she was only fifteen and a bit: to her mind, she was feather-brained; yet here she was daring to put into words the thoughts that had for some time been tormenting herself.

Then she was more amazed as Angela went on, "Daddy is too caring for us, don't you think? Do you think that he is still afraid that that woman will break out of the asylum and do us an injury?"

Angela turned her head now and must have seen the startled expression on her sister's face, but she still went on: "We never go anywhere.

You remember the girls at school? Well, we never invited them here, did we? And do you remember Bella Scott? She used to talk about the family going to the pantomime at Christmas; and she once went to a play and saw a famous actress in Newcastle. You remember .. ? We never go anywhere, do we, Jessie? Only to the dear Reverend Noble's magic

lantern show. "

When she stopped speaking, they continued to stare at each other. Then in a mere whisper and with a tremble in her voice, she said, "I feel lost at times, Jessie ... lonely. And I want to do things which I know I mustn't, such as dance. Oh, I do want to dance. You remember,

Mummy danced so beautifully? Sometimes I think I'm her: in my dreams I dance. Oh, Jessie."

Almost with a spring, Jessie hitched herself along the couch and

enfolded her sister and, as if she were the mother, she was patting Angela's head, saying, "There, there. Don't cry, dear. I know what you mean. I, too, feel it. We must talk to Daddy; at least, I will. I shall ask him if he will take us to the city, and let us buy some

clothes from the shop. Mrs. Ranshaw has a poor idea of dress. All

our clothes look home-made. Yes; yes, I shall talk to him."

Angela raised her head. Her face was running with tears.

"Oh, if only you would, Jessie," she said.

"Anyway, if he says no, it won't matter so much, for now you understand me."

"Yes; yes, my dear; I understand." And again Jessie's arms went around her sister; and again she comforted her and felt a strange feeling as she did so; she could almost say she felt happy, until Angela

whispered, "I feel so guilty, Jessie, because I want to get away. I dream of, of ... someone coming and, and' the words became fainter

'taking me away and into a wonderful life ... different."

It was around ten o'clock the next morning when Ward entered the

kitchen and, looking at his daughter where she was rolling out some pastry on the floured board, said to her, "Leave that, and go and tell Carl I want a word with him in my office. You'll find him likely in the second paddock."

Jessie paused a moment and looked across the table towards Annie, who was sitting peeling the last of the apples from the previous year's crop. And she, noticing Jessie's hesitation, said, "Well, leave that;

it won't walk away. "

It wasn't until Jessie had left the kitchen, after washing her hands in the wooden sink, then drying them whilst looking out of the window, that Ward's voice came

at her harshly, saying, "You don't need to titivate yourself to walk to the fields, Jessie; and I haven't got time to waste."

After the girl had left the kitchen through the back door and Ward was about to leave by the far door, Annie spoke again, saying, "She has a light hand with pastry, has Miss Jessie."

He turned and looked at her, saying, "What?"

"I said she has a light hand with pastry. She'll make a good

housekeeper."

Ward stared at her over the length of the room before going out hastily and closing the door none too gently after him. And Annie, continuing to peel the apples without snapping the rind, muttered, "He'll appreciate her one day. But then, perhaps, it'll be too late;

you can't keep birds caged if you leave the gate open. "