“Finished?” asked Dot, looking about pryingly. “Whatever have you been doing?”
“How d’you mean? Working,” said Flo, in no mood to be put on.
“Your face,” Dot took her unawares. “Have you been crying?”
“Crying? No . . . why . . . why should I?” stammered Flo, feeling her cheeks going hotter.
“Huh, crying for your mammy and you’ve only just come. You know you’ve got to stick here?”
“I didn’t say I’d been crying,” said Flo, feeling murderous. “I haven’t. I’ve been working. You should have been helpin’ . . . leaving me to it all. I . . . I . . .”
“Now then, remember who you’re talking to,” broke in Dot in a higher, harsh voice somewhat like her mother’s. “I won’t be spoken to like that by any pauper’s brat, you . . . you pimply little tarnach.”
“I’ll speak to who I like. I’m not going to be treated like . . .”
“You’ll be treated how I like; you’ll see how you’ll be treated. How long are you going to be? I’ll tell her you’ll be coming in an hour or two,” she finished sarcastically, and abruptly she picked up the long brush and marched out.
Flo was tempted to shout after her, but all at once her spirit ended its flare and she felt a return of her choking homesickness, so that instead of running to the door she turned to the window. There the lake was being touched by a peculiar light almost to pure white, as if it were a paper sheet; and in the sallows there was gold, the glow of thousands of open ball-flowers. Instantly Flo forgot all else and a strange solace seemed to come from the beauty. White and gold . . . the combination lasted richly for seconds only. As she stared the whiteness was sullied by shadow till it became grey, and the gold faded and left only the dark mesh of branches. But the effect remained with her. As she gathered the cleaning things she remembered the wild daffodils that Mrs. Mawson had given her . . . white and gold . . . and home, which she had thought so far off, somehow seemed to come nearer again. She went towards the house slowly, laden with strange mixed feelings, dreams and fears, hopes and hesitations, and a faint half-knowledge that she was growing richer with experience of many things.
Chapter 9
By night the house appeared to Flo to be stocked enough for a siege. Thirty-two loaves and oven-cakes were stacked in the cellar pantry, on a cloth, at one end of the whitewashed stone bench; beside them were fourteen currant-spotted “bun-loaves”; and spread out along the bench were the tarts and pasties. The house was filled with a tempting crusty smell.
The following morning immediately after porridge Flo was told to go and light the iron stove in the cabin, and to set cups and plates and cutlery for a dozen. There were special pots kept in a cupboard near the door. They were of plain cream ware, substantial. Flo felt better and was curious to know where all these visitors were to come from. It was rather nice being alone in the cabin, like playing at house. The stove was stupid and smoked at first, but then it abruptly began to roar cheerfully and flickered brilliantly through its chinks.
Outside there was mist, particularly dense over the lake, so that she could not see the water, and the sallows were only shadows in the whiteness. Too early for visitors, and yet she was puzzled because Bert had not been in with the rest for porridge. Where could he be? She listened at the door, but the whole valley was still and silent, as if there was no one astir anywhere. She went back to the house slowly. Mrs. Nadin had a pile of bacon rashers nine inches high, and was steadily carving more from the long flitch. Dot was cutting a new loaf, and had three plates already built up with thick rounds. Flo was told to get the marmalade. It was in a seven-pounds stone jar, and she scooped till she had three glass dishes filled. Then she was set to rolling yellow butter into big pats, and this was like play, too, though the pats she made at first were any shape but round.
“Get th’ big tray,” ordered Mrs. Nadin, bustling.
Plates were inverted over the cut bread and Flo was told to leave it on the table just inside, as far from the stove as she could.
“Here’s a damp cloth; cover that over it,” said Mrs. Nadin. “If we give ’em dry tack they’ll, happen, stop layin’ their eggs.”
Flo wanted to ask who “they” were, only there was no time because Mrs. Nadin was halfway to the pantry. The tray measured a yard one way and two feet six inches the other. Flo’s arms ached when she staggered into the cabin and slid it on to the table. She set out everything as neatly as she could, and felt particularly proud of the three conical piles of butter balls, which almost seemed to glow.
When she got back Mrs. Nadin was cutting oatcakes into quarters, and the frying-pan was already busy. Flo was told to have her breakfast and then to put a clean apron on. While she was eating Bert came in. He wore waders which glistened blackly. He looked fresh and pleased. Flo noticed, because she watched him still with slight apprehension that he might ask what she had been crying for in the cabin. He had not mentioned it the previous evening. He dumped down without looking at her and exclaimed, “By God, I’m clemmed; give me summat.”
“How long’ll they be?” demanded Mrs. Nadin.
“Non so long; time’s past. They’ll be more for biting themselves than the’ fish is.”
He began to take his porridge in rapid spoonfuls. On the plate with her bacon Flo found an oatcake quarter crisp-hot and nicely browned. It had a clean, slightly mealy taste, and was so good that she wondered why they had never known anything about them at home. Then there was a rat-tat on the front door, and down the passage came a loud, “Anytime, Ma.”
Mrs. Nadin, in a hurry, tossed the long pink-white bacon slivers into the big frying-pan. Dot teemed steaming water into a huge brown teapot; when it was full she had to use both hands to carry it. Then the first plates of bacon were ready, and to each were added two segments of new crisped oatcake, and a rich fried egg. A cloth was put over everything, and Flo was told to hurry.
Waiting in the cabin were two men in big boots and tweeds, lounging close to the stove and drinking while Dot stood by. Her hair, which usually she kept in her copper-wire pins till afternoon, was already frizzed out, and her apron was pink with a frilled edge. One of the men was middle-aged, the other under twenty; both were pleasant and at ease. Flo hesitated.
“Don’t stand there,” said Dot sharply. “Don’t you know that the gentlemen want their breakfast hot?”
She flicked the cloth off and nodded to where the plates were to be put.
“Does it look good?” asked the younger man, and whistled and turned eagerly to the table.
Through the window Flo saw a boat with three men glide from behind the sallows into the little bay. Standing balanced in the stern, one of the occupants was winding line in down a long delicate rod, and another rod stuck out over the back-board.
“Breakfast for three more,” ordered Dot briskly. “Don’t stand staring.”
“You sound as though you got out wrong side this morning,” said the younger man rallyingly.
Flo, as she went out, heard only the beginning of the reply: “If someone didn’t keep them in their . . .” It was not hard to guess at the next word. Flo dabbed the tip of her tongue half an inch out through tight lips and as quickly retracted it. She didn’t care, anyway, because it seemed as though it was going to be an interesting day. One of the other men was on the beach steadying the nose of the boat while his companions stepped ashore. All of them had such bulky clothes on it was difficult at the distance to tell whether they were young men or old. But when Flo got back she judged them all to be in the twenties.