‘Come on now, Nessie dear, and get your dinner begun. Don’t sit and let it get cold. A big lassie like you should be hungry as a hunter and dashin’ in for her meals as though she could eat the house up!’
At his words she came out of her meditation and at once began to obey, murmuring an explanation, almost apologetically:
‘I’ve got a headache, father, just right on the front of my brow, like a strap goin’round it,’ and she pointed listlessly to her forehead.
‘Come, come now, Nessie,’ he replied in a low tone which could not carry to the scullery, ‘you’re aye talkin’ about that headache. If you’re always crying “wolf, wolf” we’ll not be believing you when it does come to the bit. So long as ye don’t have the strap on the palm o’ your hand ye shouldna mind it on the front o’ your head.’
‘But it ties my brow so tight sometimes,’ she murmured mildly; ‘like a tight band.’
‘Tut! tut! it’s the brain behind that matters, no’ the brow, my girl. Ye should be thankful that ye’re so well equipped in that respect.’ Then, as she began negligently to eat, he continued with extravagant approval: ‘That’s better. Ye canna work without food. Take your fill o’ whatever is goin’. Hard work should give a young lass like you an appetite, and hunger’s guid kitchen.’ He suddenly shot a rancorous glance at his mother as he added harshly: ‘I’m pleased ye’re not so particular and fasteedious as some folks.’
Nessie, gratified that she was pleasing him and unfolding to some exent at his praise, redoubled her flagging efforts to eat but regarded him from time to time with a strained look in her eye as he continued reminiscently:
‘When I was your age, Nessie, I could have eaten an ox when I came rushin’ in from the fields for my dinner. I was a hardy chiel – ay – ready for what I could get. I could never get enough though. No! No! Things were different for me than they are for you, Nessie! I didna have your chance. Tell me,’ he murmured confidentially, ‘how are things goin’ to-day?’
‘Quite well,’ she replied automatically.
‘You’re still top of the class,’ he insisted.
‘Oh! father,’ she expostulated, ‘I’m tired of explaining to you that we don’t have that sort of thing now. I’ve told you half a dozen times in the last three months that it all goes by quarterly examinations.’ With a faint note of vanity in her voice she added: ‘Surely you understand that I’m past that stage now.’
‘Ay! ay!’ he hastily replied, ‘I was forgettin’ that a big girl and a fine scholar like you wouldna have to be fashed wi’ such childish notions. True enough, it’s examinations that you and me are concerned with.’ He paused, then in a sly tone remarked: ‘How long have we now till the big one?’
‘About six months, I suppose,’ she answered half-heartedly, as she pallidly continued her meal.
‘That’s just fine,’ he retorted. ‘No’ that long to wait and yet plenty of time for ye to prepare. Ye can’t say ye havena had warnin’ o’t.’ He whispered almost inaudibly: ‘Ay! I’ll keep ye to it, lass – you and me’ll win the Latta between us.’
At this point old Grandma Brodie, who had been sitting expectantly for a second course to follow and who, regardless of the conversation, had been itching, but afraid, to say: ‘Is there nothin’ else comin’’ or ‘Is this a’ we’re to get,’ at last abandoned hope; with a resigned but muffied sigh she scraped back her chair from the table, raised her stiff form, and dragged disconsolately from the kitchen. As she passed through the door she was unhappily aware that little comfort was in her, that in the sanctuary of her room two empty tins awaited her like rifled and unreplenished tabernacles mutely proclaiming the prolonged absence of her favourite Deesides and her beloved oddfellows.
Wrapped in the contemplation of his daughter Brodie did not observe his mother’s departure, but remarked in a tone that was almost coaxing:
‘Have ye no news at all then, Nessie? Surely someone said something to ye. Did nobody tell ye again that ye were a clever lass? I’ll warrant that ye got extra good marks for your home work.’ It was as though he besought her to inform him of some commendation, some pleasing attribute bestowed upon the daughter of James Brodie; then, as she shook her head negatively, his eye darkened to a sudden thought and he burst out savagely: ‘They havena been talkin’ about your father, have they, any o’ these young whelps? I daresay they listen to what the backbitin’ scum o’ their elders might be sayin’, but if they come over a thing to ye, just let me know. And dinna believe it. Keep your head up, high up. Remember who ye are – that you’re a Brodie – and demand your due. Show them what that means. Ay and ye will show them, my girl, when ye snap awa’ wi’ the Latta from under their snivellin’ nebs.’ He paused, then, with a twitching cheek, bit out at hen ‘ Has that young brat o’ Grierson’s been makin’ any of his sneakin’ remarks to ye?’
She shrank back timidly from him, exclaiming: ‘No! no, father! Nobody has said anything, father. Everybody is as kind as can be. Mrs Paxton gave me some chocolate when she met me going down the road.’
‘Oh! she did, did she?’ He hesitated, digesting the information; apparently it disagreed with him, for he sneered: ‘ Well, tell her to keep her braw presents the next time. Say we have all we want here. If ye’re wantin’ sweeties, like a big saftie, could ye not have asked me for them? Do ye not know that every scandalmonger in the town is just gaspin’ for the chance to run us down? “He canna afford to give his own daughter a bit sweetie next,” that’s what we’ll be hearin’ to-morrow, and by the time it gets to the Cross they’ll be makin’ out that I’m starvin’ ye.’ His annoyance was progressive and he worked himself up to a climax, crying: ‘Bah! ye should have had more sense. They’re all against us. That’s the way o’t now. But never mind. Let them fling all the mud they like. Let the hand of every man be turned against me – I’ll win through in spite o’ them.’ As he concluded he raised his eye wildly upwards when, suddenly, he observed that Nancy had come into the room, and was watching him from under her raised brows with a critical and faintly amused detachment. At once his inflated bearing subsided and, as though caught in some unwarrantable act, he lowered his head while she spoke.
‘What’s all the noise about! I thought that somebody had taken a fit when I heard ye skirlin’ like that,’ and as he did not reply she turned to Nessie.
‘What was the haverin’ about? I hope he wasna fightin’ at you, henny?’
With Nancy’s advent into the kitchen a vague discomfort had possessed Nessie and now the skin of her face and neck, which had at first paled, flushed vividly. She answered confusedly, in a low voice:
‘Oh! no. It was nothing – nothing like that.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ replied Nancy. ‘All that loud rantin’ was enough to deafen a body. My ears are ringin’ with it yet.’ She glanced round disapprovingly and was about to retire when Brodie spoke, looking sideways at Nessie, and with an effort making his voice unconcerned.
‘If you’ve finished your dinner, Nessie, run out to the front and wait for me. I’ll not be a minute before I’m ready to go down the road with you.’ Then, as his daughter arose, picked up her things from the sofa and went silently, uneasily, out of the room he turned his still, lowered head; looking upwards from under his brows he regarded Nancy with a strong, absorbed intensity, and remarked:
‘Sit down a minute, woman. I havena seen ye all the dinner hour. Ye’re not to be angry at that tantrum. You should know my style by this time. I just forgot myself for a minute.’
As she sat down carelessly in the chair Nessie had vacated his look drew her in with a possessive gratification which told more clearly than his words how she had grown upon him. So long without a fresh and vital woman in his house, so painfully encumbered by the old and useless body of his wife, this firm, white, young creature had entered into his blood like an increasing fever, and, by satisfying his fierce and thwarted instincts, had made him almost her slave.
‘Ye didna give us any pudding, Nancy,?
?? he continued, clumsily taking her hand in his huge grasp; ‘will ye not give a man something to make up for’t – just a kiss, now. That’ll not hurt ye, woman, and it’s sweeter to me than any dish ye could make.’
‘Tuts, Brodie! You’re always on at the same thing,’ she answered, with a toss of her head. ‘Can ye not think o’ something else for a change? Ye forget that you’re a burly man and I’m but a wee bit lass that canna stand a deal of handlin’.’ Although the words were admonitory she threw an inflection of seductiveness into them which made him tighten his clasp on her fingers, saying:
‘I’m sorry if I’ve been rough with ye, lass. I didna mean it. Come and sit closer by me. Come on now!’
‘What!’ she skirled, ‘in broad daylight. Ye maun be mad, Brodie, an’ after last night too, you great lump. Ye’ll have me away to a shadow – no! no! we’ll not wear me out like ye did the other.’ She looked little like a shadow with her plump cheeks and solid form that had filled out more maturely from her six months of easy indolent existence, and, as she regarded him with a substantial appreciation of his dependence upon her, she became aware that he was already losing his hold upon her, that the strange strength which had drawn her was being sapped by drink and her embraces, and he had now insufficient money to gratify her fancies, that he looked old, morose, and unsuited to her. She had almost an inward contempt for him as she resumed slowly, calculatingly: ‘I might gie ye a kiss, though. Just might, mind ye. If I did, what would ye give me for it?’
‘Have I not given ye enough, woman?’ he answered gloomily. ‘Ye’re housed and fed like myself and I’ve sold many a thing out this house to meet your humour. Don’t ask for the impossible, Nancy.’
‘Tuts, ye wad think ye had given me a fortune to hear ye,’ she cried airily. ‘As if I wasna worth it, either! I’m not askin’ ye to sell any more tiepins or chains or pictures. I’m only wantin’ a few shillin’s for my purse to go out and see my Aunt Annie in Overtoun to-morrow. Give us five shillin’s, and I’ll give ye a kiss.’
His lower lip hung out sulkily.
‘Are ye goin’ out again, to-morrow? Ye’re aye goin’ out and leavin’ me. When will ye be back?’
‘Man! I believe ye would like to tie me to the leg o’ this table. I’m not your slave; I’m only your housekeeper.’ That was one for him, she thought, as she delivered the pert allusion to the fact that he had never offered to marry her. ‘I’ll not be away all night. I’ll be back about ten o’clock or so. Give us the two half-crowns and if ye behave I’ll maybe be kinder to ye than ye deserve.’
Under her compelling eyes he plunged his hand into his pocket, feeling, not the handful of sovereigns that had once reposed there, but some scanty coins, amongst which he searched for the sum she asked.
‘Here ye are, then,’ he said eventually, handing her the money. ‘I can ill afford it but ye well know I can deny ye nothing.’
She jumped up, holding the money triumphantly, and was about to slip away with it when he, too, got up, and catching her by the arm, cried:
‘What about your bargain! You’re not forgettin’ about that! Do ye not care for me at all?’
Immediately she composed her features, lifted up her face, opened her eyes wide at him with an ingenious simplicity, and murmured:
‘I should think I do care for ye. Do ye think I would be here if I didna? Ye shouldna get such strange ideas in your head. That’s the way mad folk talk. You’ll be sayin’ I’m goin’ away to leave ye next.’
‘No, I wouldna let ye do that,’ he replied, crushing her fiercely against him. As he strained her small unresisting form against his own bulk he felt that here was the anodyne to his wounded pride, forgetfulness of his humiliation, while she, turning her face sideways against his chest, looked away, thinking how ridiculous to her, now, was his infatuated credulity, how she wanted someone younger, less uncouth, less insatiable, someone who would marry her.
‘Woman! what is it about ye that makes my heart like to burst when I have ye like this?’ he said thickly, as he held her. ‘I seem to lose count of everything but you. I would wish this to go on for ever.’
A faint smile creased her hidden features as she replied:
‘And why should it not? Are ye beginnin’ to get tired of me?’
‘By God! you’re fresher to me than ever ye were.’ Then after a pause he suddenly exclaimed: ‘It wasna just the money ye wanted, Nancy?’
She turned an indignant face to him, taking the opportunity to release herself.
‘How can ye say such a thing? The very idea? I’ll fling it back at ye in a minute if ye don’t be quiet.’
‘No! No!’ he interposed hurriedly, ‘I didna mean anything. You’re welcome to it, and I’ll bring ye something nice on Saturday.’ This was the day upon which he drew his weekly wage and with the sudden realisation of his subordinate position, of the change in his life, his face darkened again, became older, and looking down he said: ‘Well, I better go, then. Nessie’s waitin’ for me.’ Suddenly a thought struck him. ‘Where’s that Matt, to-day?’ he demanded.
‘I couldn’t say.’ She stifled a yawn, as though her lack of interest made her positively languid. ‘He went out straight away after breakfast. He’ll not be back now till supper, I expect.’
He gazed at her for a moment then said, slowly:
‘Well, I’ll away myself, then. I’m off!’
‘That’s right,’ she cried gaily. ‘Off with ye, and mind ye come straight back from the office. If ye have a single drink in ye when ye come in I’ll let ye have the teapot at your head.’
From under his heavy eyebrows he looked at her with an upward, shamefaced glance that sat ill upon his lined and sombre countenance; nodding his head to reassure her, he gave her arm a final squeeze and went out.
In the front courtyard, now thickly covered by sprouting weeds and denuded of the ridiculous ornament of the brass cannon – which three months ago had been sold for its value as old metal – he found Nessie patiently awaiting him, supporting her unformed drooping figure against the iron post of the front gate. At the sight of him she raised herself and, without a word, they set out together upon their walk to the point where their paths diverged at the end of Railway Road, where he would proceed to his work in the shipyard and she to hers at school. This daily pilgrimage had now become an established custom between Brodie and his daughter, and during its course he had the practice of encouraging and admonishing her, of spurring her onward to achieve the brilliant success he desired; but to-day he did not speak, tapping along with his thick ash stick, his coat sagging upon him, his square hat, faded and unbrushed, thrust back in a painful caricature of his old-time arrogance, marching silently and apart, with an air of inward absorption which made it impossible for her to speak to him. Always, now, in the public gaze he retired into himself, holding his head erect, looking directly in front of him and seeing no one, creating thus, for himself, wide depopulated streets filled, not with curious, staring, sneering faces, but by the solitude of his single presence.
When they reached their place of separation, he stopped – an odd arresting figure – and said to her.
‘Away and work hard now, Nessie. Stick into it. Remember what I’m always tellin’ you – “what’s worth doin’ is worth doin’ well.” Ye’ve got to win that Latta – that’s a’ there is about it. Here!’ – he put his hand in his pocket – ‘ Here’s a penny for chocolate.’ He almost smiled. ‘Ye can pay me back when you’ve won the Bursary.’
She took the coin from him, timidly yet gratefully, and went on her way to face her three hours of work in a stuffy classroom. If she had taken no breakfast and little lunch, she would at least be sustained and fortified against her study by the ample nourishment of a sticky bar of raspberry cream chocolate!
When she had gone the faint show of animation in his face died out completely and, bracing himself up, he turned and continued his progress to the office which he hated. As he drew near to the shipyard he hesitated slightly in
his course, wavered, then faded into the doorway of the ‘Fitter’s Bar’ where, in the public bar, filled by workmen in moleskins and dungarees, yet to him tenanted by no one but himself, he swallowed a neat whisky, then quickly emerged and, retaining the fumes of the spirit by a compression of his lips, morosely entered the portals of Latta & Co.
Chapter Two
On the evening of the following day, when Nancy had departed to visit her aunt at Overton, and with Matt, as he always was at this hour, out of the house, a sublime and tranquil domesticity lay upon the kitchen of the Brodie home. So, at least, it seemed to the master of the house as, reclining back in his own chair, head tilted, legs crossed, pipe in mouth, and in his hand a full glass of his favourite beverage, hot whisky toddy, he contemplated Nessie, seated at the table, bent over her lessons, her pale brows knitted in concentration, then surveyed his mother who, in the temporary absence of the hated intruder, had not retired to her room, but sat crouched in her old corner beside the blazing fire. A faint flush marked Brodie’s cheeks, his lips, as he sucked at his pipe, were wet and full, the eye, now turned meditatively upon the contents of the steaming tumbler, humid, eloquent; by some strange transformation his troubles were forgotten, his mind filled contentedly by the thought that it was a delightful experience for a man to spend an evening happily in his own home. True, he did not now go out in the evenings, or indeed, at any hours but those of his work, shunning the streets and the club, banned, too, from the small back parlour of the virtuous Phemie, and it should logically have been an event of less moment for him to hug the fire, and one less productive of such unusual gratification. But to-night, recognising that he would not be called upon to account to his housekeeper for his lateness at the tea-table, he had dallied by the wayside on his return from work, and now, mellowed further by a few additional drinks and the thought of more to come, the sadness of his separation from Nancy tempered by the exhilaration of his unwonted liberty and by the consideration of their reunion later in the evening, his induced felicity had enveloped him earlier and more powerfully than on most nights. Viewed from his armchair, through the clear amber of the toddy, his position in the office became a sinecure, his subordinate routine merely an amusing recreation; it was his whim to work like that and he might terminate it at his will; he was glad to be finished with his business, an ignoble trade which had clearly never suited his temper or his breeding; he would, however, shortly abandon the hobby of his present post for a more prominent, more lucrative occupation, startling the town, satisfying himself and delighting Nancy. His Nancy – ah! that was a woman for a man! As her image rose before him he toasted her, hoping enthusiastically that she might now be having a pleasant time with her aunt at Overton. Rosy mists floated through the dirty ill-kept room, tinting the soiled curtains, veiling the darker coloured square which marked the disappearance from the wall of Bell’s engraving, sending a glow into Nessie’s pale cheeks and softening even the withered, envious face of his mother. He watched the old woman’s starting eyes over the edge of his glass as he took a long satisfying drink and, when he had drawn his breath, cried jeeringly: